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witchthewriter · 1 year

Note

what type of muggle music/bands/artists do you think that the trio era characters + the marauders would listen to? sorry if this seems like a weird question..

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐏 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

Ooh, another music question! I only did the Golden Trio and The Marauders minus Peter, lemme know if you want anyone else 🌷🌿🌻

a/n: I'm not taking time into consideration...

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ

・The Marauders love Stayin' Alive by the Bee Gees (fun fact, my Pa lived on the same street as them when he was a kid and they would play together)

・The Marauders would so reenact the scene from Mamma Mia when Donna is crying in the bathroom and Chiquitita comes on

・The Golden Trio all love Lizzo. Harry loves her confidence, Ron loves her charisma and is attracted to her and Hermione loves how uplifting her songs can be

𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲

・Is a lot more well-versed in muggle music

・So when he shows Ron all the different types of muggle music, he understands a glimpse of what everyone felt when they were showing Harry the magical world.

・Headcanon that Harry somehow saves up his money to buy a walkman (one of those things that you put cd's in to listen to it) or a small portal radio or takes one of Dudley's many birthday presents. Anway, it's a way for Harry to listen to music. He is a maladaptive daydreamer (like us!!!) and would sneak off from the Dudley's house to lay down in the grass and have his headphones on, getting lost in music

・He has a broad range of musical taste

・From classical, to beautiful movie scores, to old music to new.

・I do think that Harry would be a bit of a metal head though, and he would love Korn, Rob Zombie, and Godsmack.

・Feels a personal connect to the song Me and the Devil by Soap&Skin. It's how he felt during the height of Voldemort's power.

・Underground !!! By Cody Fry !!! Has amazing daydreams about the song!!!

𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞

・Like Harry, she knows muggle music a lot better than the others

・Might be a bit of a shock, but she loves Viking-esque music. Her favourite bands are Folknery and Dakha Brakha. She has gets this surge of power whenever their songs play. As if she can feel the magic running through her veins

・Hermione loves music that moves her. That has a bit of umph - so I think she would like the Alabama Shakes, specifically their album Sound & Colour

・Secretly loves Cardi B's songs (YEAH IT MIGHT BE A REACH BUT C'MON, she'd totally be in her room studying to her classical music when out of the blue Cardi comes on and Hermione is like *... okay, I can dig it.*)

𝐑𝐨𝐧

・Unironically loves the Black Eyed Peas

・And goes hard for Rasputin by Boney M.

・Would make fun of Hermione for liking the Viking/Scandinavian type of music. But Hermione only needs to give him a death glare and he apologises ...

・THE WEASLEY'S WOULD BE A DISNEY SINGING FAMILY. Harry would show them all the classics (I mean, I doubt that the Dursley's let him watch much tv. But maybe they just sat Harry in front of the tv for most of his childhood???) The Weasley's reference the movies to each other all the time, and Harry feels a sense of pride because he's shown them something from his world

・Would follow a lot of the popular trends and have pride in knowing the words to all the popular songs.

・Fred & George walked in on Ron White Girl Dancing to Stargirl Interlude by Lana Del Rey once

𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬

・Bad Reputation by Joan Jett

・I Was Made For Lovin' You by KISS

・Likes a lot of the classics

・Holding Out For A Hero!!! Would absolutely belt it in class and jump up on the tables thinking McGonnagal wasn't in class:

"That was quite the performance, Potter. Now sit down. And I'll be seeing you every night for a week's detention."

・Would definitely sing ABBA's When I Kissed the Teacher for McGonnagal, and it would make her blush but also another week of detention (he got on the table again)

𝐒𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐬

・Loves belting out I'd Rather Go Blind by Etta James. It gets him in his feels.

・Really fell in love with the 60s and 70s era of music. Some of his favourite singers are Billie Holiday, Janis Joplin and Nina Simone

・You Know I'm No Good by Amy Winehouse! He'd become obsessed with her. He feels truly connected to her music because of how alone he feels in the world

・Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood by Nina Simone would bring him to tears the first few times he listens to it

・Music was a way for Sirius to escape into his own world while at the Black household

・Created playlists for the people he cares about. They're songs that 1. he thinks they'll like 2. songs that remind him of them 3. songs that represent them

𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬

・Loves David Bowie!!! Definitely would want to dress up as him for Halloween (can you imagine a little marauder halloween party??)

・HOZIER HOZIER HOZIER HOZIER. Oh my god, some of his favourites would be Cherry Wine and Sunlight. The soul, the guttural... umph that Hozier has with all of his songs. It moves Remus every time. The lyrics would mean so much to him.

・His taste in music is songs that make him feel connected to the artist or what the message of the song is

・Always has the radio on at home, while being a professor at Hogwarts etc

#harry potter headcanons #anon asks #witchthewriter #harry potter preferences #hermione granger #hermione granger headcanons #ron weasley #ron weasley headcanons #sirius black #sirius black headcanons #james potter #james potter headcanons #marauder headcanons #golden trio headcanons #remus lupin headcanons #remus lupin #witch the writer preferences

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wondersofdreaming · 3 years

Text

My curls, your curls

Characters: Captain Syverson x female reader (3rd person, with thick curly hair)

Word count: 1.256

Warnings: There are a few sexy innuendoes mentioned, else it's fluff and cute and sugary sweet.

Author’s note: This is a boring piece of crap, because I haven't written anything good since January, and even then it was still a struggle to write. So I decided it was time to get out of the deep dark writer's block hole I've been buried in. Even though it's badly written and lacking some feeling and emotion, I hope it still conveys a little about how the captain feels about his wife.

Just a reminder to everyone that this is MY curly hair routine. It might not work for your hair type or your curls, but it works for me. My hair type is between 2c and 3a, I think, not sure though because every hair type website says different things. And I use the LCO method because it works for me, and add a curling gel after the cream because I want to give my hair some extra protection under the summer sun.

A list of the products used in this story is under the cut.

I do not own any characters in this short story, except the reader who is a figment of my imagination.

MY MASTERLIST

Feedback is appreciated.

It was early morning. The sun was slowly creeping its warm rays over Syverson’s naked back. He yawned and turned around, wanting to cuddle with his gorgeous wife, but she was not where he had left her the night before. Exhausted and satisfied, sleeping in his arms. Instead, his hand landed on something furry, his dog Aika, who moved to lick his face.

“Thanks, girl, I’m awake now,” he grunted but smiled at the loving German Shepherd. He listened to where his gorgeous wife could be and heard the shower going.

The captain walked to the slightly open bathroom door and pushed it open. Dan + Shay’s new single ‘Glad you exist’ was blasting through the waterproof speaker. His wife was currently lathering up her hair with her favourite shampoo for curly-haired women. She used something he had learned was called a ‘shampoo brush’, she massaged her entire scalp with it and washed the soap off her hair, while singing along to the music.

Sy leaned against the doorframe, enjoying the view of his naked wife, while she washed her long curly hair. Next was the detangling process. She used a lot of conditioner and the weird looking big round brush with the many different sizes of bristles.

She hummed to the next song, not noticing the mountain-sized man watching her. Finishing up her shower, she stepped out and nearly screamed as she saw her husband smirking from the door.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack,” she told him breathlessly, as her hand went to her heart that was drumming away beneath her palm.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just couldn’t help myself,” he smiled. The captain stomped into the bathroom to give his wife a long sloppy kiss.

“I need to finish my routine,” she mumbled against his soft lips. He groaned, wanting more, but respected that her hair needed her attention more than he did. Instead, he sat on top of the toilet seat and watched as she flipped her head upside down.

She started with the leave-in-conditioner, slowly raking the creamy substance into her hair, then using a wet brush to comb it through, so every strand of hair would get some of the conditioner. Next in her routine, she squeezed a tiny dollop of hair cream onto her hand and applied it from the middle part of her hair to the ends.

After parting her hair by her temples, she used another brush, a styling brush she called it, to comb the soaking wet hair. Her motions were so soothing to watch, as she brushed through each section of her luscious hair. Next, she applied a frizz control gel. Sy watched as she carefully gathered the clumps of hair in her palms and lifted it towards her scalp before she started scrunching it. He could hear the wetness being squeezed, making the same noise as when she was overly wet and he was ramming uncontrollably into her.

“Why are you doing that?” he asked curiously, wondering how that would help her already beautiful looking hair, and he was trying to control his lustful thoughts.

“It helps define the hair and it creates volume,” she said a little out of breath. “Could you plug in my hairdryer with the diffuser, please?”

“Anything for you, my love,” he smacked her ass on his way to the cabinet, where he knew she stored her hairdryer.

He connected it and sat it down next to the sink. While he did that, she had put her hair in one of his old t-shirts. Sy remembered that he was about to donate a bunch of his old t-shirts when his wife had stopped him and said she could use them for drying her hair. He hadn’t understood why but had gladly given her the shirts. She slept in some of them and the rest were neatly stacked in a cabinet in the bathroom.

It made his heart skip a beat whenever he saw her in one of his shirts, old or new, she looked amazing no matter what.

The captain watched as she went through her skincare routine while waiting for her hair to dry a tiny bit. She was so meticulous about taking care of her skin, hair, Aika, and him too. She forced him to use sunscreen every single day, even on rainy days. Not just that, she had also implemented that he started taking care of his beard, so she had bought him a kit with a beard come, a tiny pair of scissors, beard shampoo and conditioner, and beard oil. His lovely wife had chosen the scent from her knowledge of what he liked, but also something she thought smelled amazing. It was musky with some apple undertones and hints of vanilla.

He was so far in his thoughts he didn’t notice it had been 10 minutes, not until his cheeky wife threw the wet t-shirt in his face.

“Hey!”

“Thought you needed a wake-up call,” she giggled. The soft sound of her happy voice just made his heart soar, and he forgot all about her little prank.

She diffused her hair until it was almost dry, and then turned around to look at her husband, who was sitting, looking scared as she stood with the diffuser like it was a rifle.

“Your turn, captain,” she teased.

“My turn for what?” he looked profoundly confused at his beloved woman, who stood before him in nothing but a bathrobe, her long curly hair cascading down her back.

“It’s time that we start on your curly hair routine too, dear husband.”

Sy looked at himself in the mirror above the sink. He had quit the army a year earlier and had let his hair grow out, not wanting to waste time on cutting it every two weeks. He looked carefully at the dark brown curls sticking out in all directions.

His wife was standing in front of him, ready to guide him through it. He smiled at her and let her do her thing. She forced him into the shower, used her shampoo and conditioner. Then while he was sitting down. She used a curl enhancing cream to make his curl pop even more, and a gel so his curls would hold their, well, curl. He then managed to sit through 10 minutes of her hovering over his head with the diffuser.

The captain was rewarded with a kiss when she finished. She picked up a three toothed pick, called a ‘spriggle’ and lifted his curls for volume.

The last part of her hair care routine was to put in some argan oil to lock in the moisture. She handed Sy the spriggle.

“Will you lift my curls for me?”

He would do anything for his wife. Sit through a hair care routine, walk through fire, eat 40 hotdogs to win a teddy bear she had her eyes on, adopt all the dogs, cats, horses, goats, any animal at the shelter because she felt bad for them not having a loving home.

The woman who was not only his very best friend, having known her since kindergarten, but she was truly also the love of his life. The only human he needed to be happy. And she waited for him while he was in Iraq. She deserved everything she wished for and more.

This captain was utterly devoted to the woman who just threw her robe in his face, catching him off guard for the second time that morning, a soft smirk spread on her pink lips.

Products used:

Shea Moisture Coconut & Hibiscus Curl & Shine Shampoo and Conditioner

HEETA Shampoo Brush (Purple)

Michel Mercier hair detangler for thick hair

As I Am leave-in conditioner

Epic Professional Quick Dry Hair Brush

Briogeo Curl Charisma Rice amino Avocado Leave-In Defining Créme

Denman Classic Styling Brush 7 Rows - D3

Briogeo Curl Charisma Frizz Control Gel

Segbeauty Hair Diffuser attachment

The Spriggle

The Beard Struggle (Viking Storm scent)

Aveda be curly curl enhancer

Aveda confixor liquid gel

The Aveda products and the male curly hair routine is inspired by this video from Manes By Mell

#Henry Cavill #This man #I need a drink #Fanfiction #My story #Captain Syverson #henrycavillfanfic #Henry Cavill x female reader #Henry Cavill x reader #Henry x female reader #Henry x reader #My curls your curls

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jadelynlace · 3 years

Text

ink drinker / Modern Vikings AU, Ivar x F!Reader, Chapter 3

catch up here!

synopsis: Ivar was only meant to be a friend with benefits, but he caught feelings for his older brother’s best friend, and co-worker: you.

pairing: Ivar x F!Reader

author’s note & content warning: mentions of depression, self harm and suicidal thoughts; all pertaining to Ivar, not reader. mentions of therapy, medication and past history of self inflicted & blooming trauma. please read at your own risk. my messages are always, always open for anyone who may ever need a listener. anything in italics indicates a flash back. there are so many fucking feelings in this chapter that I just, am apologizing now. but there’s smut!

✎

It was gloomy the morning you remembered finally catching a glimpse of Ivar’s scars. Adorned and nearly smothered by him in his bed, the small snores from him somewhere draped across your skin, traveling over the plains in warm boulders. You were always drawn to the artwork on his limbs, there was always a smaller detail you missed and found within your next search but through the endless gazes you finally caught sight of the jagged white flesh. The since healed lacerations and your medical knowledge took full force of your mind. They were scars, they were healed scars, but they were scars from the straight edge of a razor blade. With such precision and such aftermath you knew they were the scars with one intent within their making. And they were there to tell you the secret horrors Ivar had not yet spoken—that there was a point where he felt his heart should no longer beat, and his lungs should no longer fill and that his life was meaningless. And that he should end it.

“Can I ask you something?” You finally find yourself mumbling; words floating through the cabin of the parked ambulance on stand by. Hvitserk’s coffee halfway through to his stomach when you peep in such a meek voice he almost coughs the molten liquid back out.

“Yeah, of course, Y/N,”

“How bad is Ivar’s depression?” And you simply ask. No foreword to the speech, no coating of sugar or dusting of fake joy. As blunt as you had been trained to voice the death of a loved one to their family. “I saw the medication in his cabinet, and I saw the scars on his wrists. I know it’s none of my business because he’s your brother, but…” and you can’t find a lie to justify it. Not ready to spill to your partner about the times Ivar had spilled into the condoms with you.

“Bad,” Hvitserk says, and just as bluntly. “He…he tried to kill himself in college. I don’t know if you’ve noticed how he’s never available Saturdays from eleven to noon, but that’s when he has therapy. I had been trying to convince him since high school to see someone, and Floki finally got through to him not too long ago,” He adds. “When I got that phone call from mom that he was in the hospital—I felt like such a failure, Y/N, because I knew it was coming and I did nothing to stop it,” Your hand goes to his wrist for a second, a quick squeeze of added support as you listen.

“Sometimes people refuse what’s good for them, Hvitty,” You start. “You should know that—how many times have we explained to someone why they should go to the hospital with us, but they still refuse?” He finally cracks a smile at that. “Do you think he’s in a better place now, mentally?”

“Either that, or he’s just stable. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Ivar doesn’t like to talk about his feelings…”

“Wow Hvitserk, I had no idea,” You tease, nudging him with both your elbow and sarcastic tone as the voice on the radio fills into the cabin. Your stand by is over and the conversation is dropped as you leave the scene.

There had been instances where you think he might be ready; he might understand that the new gifting of your relationship status might help him to realize you aren’t joking when you offer to listen. You’d listen to Ivar talk until he ran out of things to say if it came to that. More times now the words perched themselves on his lips, ready to spring forwards but he keeps pulling them back. He keeps swallowing them because they’re mixed like bile and stew and far too gross, far too un-human for him to even want to try to speak them to you. And then Ivar kicks himself for drowning these demons who have started to learn to swim and he sees you in your uniform and remembers that nothing phases you. You watch open heart surgery on the television while you eat his mother’s lasagna without a care in the world or a realization that what you were doing is unusual.

“Can I talk to you?” Ivar says bluntly, sitting like a cowered dog in the living room and you’re hardly through his front door when he asks. You can feel how your head rises slowly, a quick snarky word to come back but you bite down on your tongue so roughly you can taste blood as you just look at him. You have never seen a man of his stature try to look so small, try to be so invisible. Worry comes to your face just as quickly as the next breath passes through your diaphragm and you’re on the couch before you even take your shoes off. “It’s messy,” He finally admits. Shallow and dead and you can see the broken boy that has tried to hide himself through the bulked muscles and the tattoos; the glare through his blue eyes and the curved lip.

“Most of what involves the human body is messy, Ivar,” You find yourself saying back, and it sounds pathetic to your ears. It sounds like you’re trying to tell the parent of a dead child that you know how they feel but you don’t. And you never will. But Ivar shedding this skin for you feels like you’re walking through the motions on a call, eyes from crowds of people crawling over and stuck on your every move. And every move that comes next like they’re watching a soap opera with their dinner and they’ve disconnect that what is happening is real, it’s someones life. Just like how you have to disconnect. But in this moment it’s Ivar, and you’re present.

“Like paint,” Ivar mumbles next.

“Yeah, like paint,” You repeat and there’s a smile on your lips for a second. “Ivar? You don’t do that anymore, do you?” You finally find the courage to ask.

“No,” Ivar says as he glances down at his right hand’s wrist, shoving the skin next to the sweatshirt he’s wearing as if rubbing it on the gray cotton will make those scars dissipate. “I get tattoos instead,” That causes a sick button to click in your consciousness as to why Ivar is so heavily covered from his shoulders to his ankles in artwork. How the sting of the needle dawning the creations reminded him of the blade he tried to use to make the mess of thoughts fly away. To make the demons come free through his skin and leave him with peace, if only a moment.

“What helps? What helps you stay present?” You ask. Ivar blinks far too many times, sorting through his brain for the answers as if it’s a container of memorabilia that’s so unorganized even his mother can’t stand the sight of it.

“My brothers help, sometimes,” He says. “I think about how devastated my mom would be. I think about Floki. I think about all of the people in my life who say they want me here even when my mind is trying to tell me I don’t deserve to be.”

“I want you here, Ivar.” You say back and catch how he looks at you when you admit such.

“Why? Have you seen yourself, Y/N? You could have anyone you want and you choose me…” The sentence breaks your heart but you now know the darkness the climbs between his ears. The seed planted so long ago in the depths of brown ground somewhere and you want to pull it from the mental garden. You want to rip the roots right from the soil and burn them so they never have a chance to infest any farther.

“No one makes me feel the way you do, Ivar,” Are the first words from your mouth. “You make me smile, you make me feel important—you remind me how to escape. Even on the worst possible days I can have, you bring me back to reality.” You want to tell him how he’s addicting, how there’s a quality to him you can’t articulate but always keeps you coming back. How you want to keep coming back because both your mind, and your body know it’s safe. How he was someone so mysterious from the outside but past every highly built wall is a man who is just so simply himself. “Because you’re you, Ivar. With the bachelor’s degree in calculus, and the copious amounts of tattoos, and a heart of gold that…you forget that you have,” You finally add. “You’re someone different to the rest of the world, but you’re the real Ivar around me,” You worry that the silence that over takes him is a sign of something else. A sign that you spoke too much, again, and scarred him for more than he could withstand. And then he smiles.

But you can’t understand why—why he smiles for someone like you. The one who let him design your first ever tattoo to his heart’s content. The one who has the same twisted sense of humor. The one who will bicker back and challenge him. The one who gets to see him fall apart between your legs. The one who makes him hard, and has him make those noises. The moans, the heavy panting and rasped groans as he bottoms out and moves through you. The one who gets to watch how his eyes snap shut, and his mouth drops open when you clench around him; how his entire back tenses when he’s close. How he holds you as he fills the rubber with everything he has. The man who loves your nails trailing on his skin. The man who smothers you every night that he spends with you, and every morning when you wake and he’s still there. Making you coffee and cooking you breakfast. How he knows your takeout order from your favorite places, and your work schedule. What food to have at his own apartment, and what movies he should have on demand. The spare clothes he keeps there for when you come over after work, ready to take the ambulance grime from your skin. The pads that are in his bathroom closet, the painkillers. The bottle of “girly white wine” that he won’t admit to drinking too, because it is damn good wine. The man who knows to check in with you during the day, and again to make sure you really are alright. The same man who knows if you don’t text him back, you and Hvitserk have gone knee deep into either a bullshit call, or a tragic one. As shocked as you were that he was listening to what you were saying—and taking it to heart—you were stunned that you hadn’t caught on to how obvious it was that Ivar was in love with you. Even with all of the time you spend crammed between your own thoughts.

“There’s a lot to sort through,” Ivar says again.

“That’s okay, Ivar,” You remind him, your head resting on his shoulder and you feel him shift, move his arm to encompass you as you curl against his side.

“You smell like bleach,” He softly laughs, his nose deep against your hair and you snort, reminded of the decontamination duties you were gifted from the calls today.

“Better than Hvitserk, who got puked on,” You reply. “Shower?” And you can feel Ivar nod against you.

His hands don’t move rapidly to shed your clothing, or to shed his own. There’s a certain calmness through his motions as he waits for the water to warm, slipping your polo from your shoulders, and planting his lips in its wake. Against the base of your neck, your spine, hugging your body flush against his in front of the mirror. Your eyes catch sight of his hands coming back around you, squeezing your breasts and you can’t stop the moan that crawls from your mouth. The traces of artwork on his fingers as his lips move from your neck, to the shell of your ear and graze your pulse point. There’s a push from your backside against his groin, and Ivar growls in response, humming not far after as you feel how his cock hardens the farther his hands roam.

Down your sides, your abdomen, swirling through your folds and dipping between them to catch your juices. Circling against the bundle of nerves he knows so precisely and you moan twice as loudly, and he does too as you moisten to his fingers. Your hands move to grab at him, anywhere they can and you find one hand holding his neck and the other wrapping around his length. Your nails crawl to his hair, pulling the locks down as his fingers take to moving quickly, spreading your womanhood and arousal and you suddenly can’t wait much longer to have him. And he can tell by how you whimper, whisper to him about how you want to feel him inside of you and there’s no fight anywhere on his body to try to deny the tone of your begging. Ivar’s eyes catch yours in the mirror as he finally pushes into you, the cold porcelain sink calming the heat of your skin as he bottoms out and rests his body against yours. There’s a sinful moan that comes through his lips as his eyes bore into yours, with the squeeze from your walls and warmth you spread through him and at first he can’t move, he only wants to savor it. His eyes finally close as he slips away from you, pushing in once more as your body rocks to the sink, singing back to him as the steam from the forgotten shower starts to fog against the mirror. Your name is through his lips as he moves, tattooed hands coming to find yours as he moves your body with each thrust, each timed sensation and you feel your own orgasm approaching. His mouth open on your ear, eyes screwed shut between love and ecstasy as his breath tickles down your face and you’re close now, far closer and far faster than you’ve ever been

“Ivar—” comes your voice and there’s only a hum in response, wordlessly pleading for you to let go because he’s got you, and you know that. Your knuckles white washed against his as you finish, shaking against the sink and you miss how Ivar’s eyes watch you unfold. Studying the pleasure laced in your features.

“Where, baby?” He says quickly, and you shudder as you remember he’s bare now, condom long since forgotten but there are still the small pills you swallow. Still working somewhere you know of, but the accuracy decreases when you take them irregularly—and there’s a big part of your life that calls for that to happen. The alarming lights and loud tones. But you know that you’re safe. With Ivar you’re always safe.

“Inside,” You finally say, his hips stopping to starve off the inevitable as he waits for you to be sure, as he waits to see the seriousness on your face so he knows you aren’t lying in the heat of the moment. And you have to say it again for him to start up again, remind him that you have a safety net. The sensitivity in your cunt melts as he keeps moving and you can tell another orgasm is starting to build. Ivar reaches from your hand quickly and starts his fingers against your clit, quick circles as you hear him get louder, feel his other arm move to crush you and you catch his face as he finishes. The sight searing in your vision and colliding with how he moves with you and your second release rolls through you. His seed spilling and you both moan, his lips still plastered against your ear and you can feel the shake through his whole body as he floats back down. The tense in his thighs pushing you against the counter. There’s a whimper next from him, as he stills, wrapping tightly to hold you there, like it was all a dream he doesn’t want to wake up from.

“I love you,” You hear him say against your skin and you’re right there to repeat it back to him. “You don’t have to mean it,” He then tries and you already know what he’s doing.

“I do, Ivar,” You say back, trying to make him look at you through the mirror but his eyes are still closed. He slowly slips from you, his release sticking between your thighs as he slides away and you’re only then able to turn in his arms. Reaching forwards to pull his mouth against his. “I love you. You and me Ivar, against the world,” You say and he hums at that, a small snicker not far after.

“I like how that sounds, baby,” His smile comes next, dopey and boyish as he finally looks into your eyes and understands that you don’t doubt any part of him. You love it all—the good and the bad and the evil things he may think about himself. You love them all because you know he feels the same way when it comes to you. “The hot water’s going to run out soon,” He mumbles as he holds you. And standing in the shower is not much more different, still wrapped up safely in his arms as you both feel the troubles melt down the drain.

Tags:

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hollyhomburg · 4 years

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Omg I love packtan so much and I started to love it more after you explained the viking omega verse! It sounds so interesting. How do you think the reader reacted after she woke up, being taken away by the one that knocked her out? Do you think they had much struggle getting to trust the boys? I have so many questions I could read about it all day it's just so interesting skmskana

I think that when she woke up she would immediately go into attack mode. she’s in a strange place, surrounded by several strange alphas- it’s basicly her worst nightmare.

Jungkook would try to calm her down and she would immediately drag out a knife at which point Hoseok would walk in and be totally not about it (no one threatens his pack- like no one). luckily he’s kinda good with weapons in this au and he gets it away from her without any issue or injury,

Hoseok shouts and everyone rushes into the room just as she slams the back of her head into Hoseok face with /commitment/. so hard she almost knocks herself out again. Hoseok miraculously dosent let go around her waist, but jimin does rush forward. She’s so shocked to see another omega- not like shackled or bound, but one that looks healthy and well taken care of that she pauses for the moment it takes Hoseok to retaliate and she’s out again.

Please imagine Hoseok looking down at her, blood gushing from his broken nose, saying “fuck, well that went well!” and the others are so fucking shocked that they barely steer him into a chair before he falls over- dizzy from an almost concussion, Seokjin rushing forward with a rag for his nose.

They learn from their lesson and bind her wrists as much for their own safety as for hers. Something about her probably tugs at their heartstrings- especially the omegas because she’s fighting so hard to getaway. They don’t have to ask themselves /why/ because in parts of the world omegas are treated like little more than cattle and though Namjoon is trying to change that fact, there is still a long way to go.

I think when she wakes up again they’ve learned their lesson and have only Jimin and Seokjin in the room with her, she dosen’t talk to them, but she will answer with a nod or a shake of her head. Eventually, she nudges her head at their wrists and they explain that omegas aren’t treated badly here, they’re free to go anywhere they want and make their own choice and decline any alpha or beta though they’re both spoken for. She’s confused, but not too afraid to meet with namjoon.

she keeps her head down, won’t look at him, much to the anger of the other alphas in the room. Namjoon barely contains his frustration. seokjin and jimin had come to him, asking him to help you- to be gentle and he wasn’t the type to just ignore their wants- it was your fault you where being so damn difficult. , finally growling, “can you even speak?”

“Yes” you reply, actually making Seokjin smile where he sits to the side of Namjoon because you might be shaking in your boots but you obviously have bite, a wild spirit that will not bend to anyone in the room. “will you speak to us?” you look blankly, tempting a scoff and a smirk from yoongi.

Eventually, as you won’t answer the basic questions of ‘who are you/ which pack do you belong to/ are you hurt/’ namjoon gets to the one thing he’s been pressed to ask, pressed by yoongi- one of the only healers in the pack. “my beta- Taehyung- the man you found in the woods, will survive thanks to you. yoongi tells me he would have been dead for days if it weren’t for you. when he wakes up i know he’d want to thank you. And he and only he is the reason why i won’t punish you for what you did to my second Hoseok.” hoseok sits on a nearby chair, his nose slowly blackening- but though he grumbles, he’s not that hurt, His nose will finish healing within a few days.

“This place is safe, I already know that you’ve wondered after jimin and seokjin- they told me you did” you send an accusatory glance in their direction, like you’re offended they sold you out to their alpha. “we don’t treat omegas the same way the rest of the world does and we won’t treat you that way, but the truth is- we need healers, and you seem to be a good one judging by the way you healed Taehyung. Stay for a few days, rest, enjoy our food and safety, see the town and how we treat omegas, and if you still want to leave by the end of the week i’ll let you. if you agree...” for the first time you’re looking into namjoon’s eyes, through your hair, a little greasy and hanging in your face, unevenly chopped, your clothes likewise rough worn. “you’ll become a member of our pack, I’ll have the builders make you a cabin, and you’ll be given suplise and anything elce you might want in exchange for your services, you’ll be a free omega, and you won’t have to answer to any alpha”

“besides you” namjoon nodds, tilts his head forwar,

“Besides me.” namjoon stands from the table, his black robes dusting the floor, everyone else in the room stands, “think it over” until he wipes out of the room, you see it though, the way his hand brushes down Seokjin’s side as he passes, and you aren’t left in centre on your own for long, jimin quick to rush to your side, his nose scrunching when he gets close, “you could use some new clothes, follow me”

Then please imagine a verry grumpy and halarious scene where Jimin and Seokjin wrestle her into a hot soapy bath and she growls and hisses until she smells the soap and then goes all pliant. And then she’ll shove it into Seokjin a hand and turn around showing her scarred back- and of course later Seokjin will tell Namjoon about the wear on her body- what can only be a brand on her back- but looks like it was cut out by her own hand. It makes him and Jimin exchange sad looks- but then she lets out a happy grumble at them softly studsing her off. they fit her in a loose omega dress but she quickly points at her bare and bruised legs and won't leave the room before they give her a loose and long tunnic and a pair of thick knit pants.

there are a few other things I picture happening, like when she meets Jungkook and he thanks her- telling her it could have been him on the scouting trip that landed Taehyung in her care, to which she replies “if it had been you, I would have slit your throat” and it’s true- she has kind of a hatred for alphas. but it lessens a little after she tries to run away and Jungkook and Hoseok stop a bear from mauling her.

When Tae wakes up there are a few other sweet moments, Taehyung tugging on her freshly washed and cut hair, her jerking away in suprise “you know what I thought when I first saw you, right after you set the bone in my leg and I almost screamed my head off?” you nod, prod at his hand curled in the furrs, “I thought it was impossible, impossible that there was an omega as beautiful as Seokjin and jimin out there, and even more impossible that she was saving me from bleeding out onto the forest floor”

of course she blushes and gets out of there so quickly that yoongi comes running, only to find tae laughing so hard it hurts his broken ribs, “God she’s fun to tease” and yoongi snapping a bandage at him and telling him to stop laughing before he reopens his stitches.

hopefully this answers enough of your questions

#Anonymous #packtan

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honestsycrets · 4 years

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Hard Sell III: Laugardagur

❛ pairing | ivar x reader

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | ivar can’t hold it back anymore-- despite what it might mean for your relationship.

❛ warnings | bathing, nsfw themes.

Ivar loves laugardagur. It’s the special day when he can shower and where as it used to be an awkward event as he grew up, where mother bathed him in father’s bath all alone, it became special. Now, as a young man, he didn’t shower at home. Not with his brothers in the river either, as Sigurd would berate him, fold his arms and laugh how he had never been with a woman.

“Ooo, it’s cold!”

Ivar suppresses his smile then, settled in the shallow waters, his cracked lips churning his smile. Yes, Ivar loves laugardagur because it’s the one day where you have an excuse to run away from your drunk and happy family into the river for some actual quality time with him that may or may not be interrupted by your eavesdropping little family.

“It’s not that cold,” Ivar says, the water lapses around his belly button. You’re dancing around at the grainy shore, tipping your toe in, then squeaking. “Just get in already. What if someone sees you dancing like that?”

Like that, Ivar smiles, is the condition you’re in now. Nothing-- nothing but your arms secured around your breasts, your butt jiggling with the bounce of your feet. Beautiful and sweet. He reclines back on his forearms, glancing up at you. You set one foot in before backing out.

“Come on, Hvitserk might come around.” He warns, “You know how much he likes to creep.”

Like you, he holds back. That alone is enough to force your into the waters, splashing until Ivar holds out is hand, allowing you to settle by him. His eyes, previously locked to your naked skin, settles. A distinct pink pinches his cheeks. He settles a kiss to your knuckles as he did time to time, and chucks you the soap unceremoniously. It plips into the water with a splash, then carries a bit past his legs.

“Come on yourself!” You lurch over his legs, reaching for your wayward soap, and Ivar doesn’t know what’s worse. To see your round ass shift, and his fingers twinge with the desire to slap it, or the tickle of your nipples against his deformed legs. He settled for the latter, folding his arms over one another, and gazing up at clear blue skies. Puffy clouds roll on by. He thinks Freyja mocks him when his body involuntarily responds. “Did you have to throw it?”

“Eh,” he says, then shrugs, and you settle back by him to start washing yourself off.

“So,” your eyes look up, longer than they should, like you have something to tell him. Ivar knows that look-- “I was thinking.”

He grunts. Here it comes. Something probably ridiculous--

“I want to go with Bjorn to the Mediterannean.” --and that wasn’t it.

“With Bjorn?” Ivar snaps. “Did he invite you?”

You had to know how he’d react. With Bjorn? Alone? His mind wanders because he knows his brother. His brother wasn’t-- he didn’t cherish anything. Let alone anyone but himself. Not you-- Ivar turns, loosening rocks, grasping your shoulder with a shake for his answer.

“Hvitserk did.”

“Hvitserk,” Ivar throws up his hand, stewing. Hvitserk was as bad, but not as malicious. “What did he say, come travel the world to nonexistent lands with me?”

They very well did exist. He heard about them when dragging himself through Kattegat. The slaves that came from that place, their warm skin and sultry eyes, they were beautiful. Hvitserk heard things about the fruit that came from there-- the food. That was the reason why he wanted to go raid there.

“He said you’d be jealous.” You slap your hands together, laughing at his cheeks pressing red. “Just because I have a thing for Ubbe and Bjorn doesn’t mean I’ll sleep with them.”

You had better not. Ubbe? Tolerable, he could guilt him into not doing so. Bjorn-- the man was wild as a bear.

“I’m not jealous.”

He pouts.

“Don’t go.”

“What, so you won’t pout?”

“So I won’t be lonely.” His arms fall away, running up the expanse of your back. At that, you turn toward him, stuck with the weight of his words. The knowledge of-- that. He didn’t want to be alone. It would have been selfish to go.

“You’ll have Ubbe.”

“Ubbe prefers Sigurd.” Ivar starts, the pang of its realization deep in his chest. “You know that.”

Poor Ivar, he’d say. He empathized with him perhaps because he was afraid of him. He wonders if his brother truly loves him. Sigurd, he knows, may not. Hvitserk… he doesn’t know what to think of his elder brother. That leaves him with his mother whose love suffocated him day by day.

You exhale air through your nostrils, smoothing the soap down your chest. His eyes follow. “I know,” you say at last, splashing water up your breasts. You set the soap in his palm and turn, pulling your long hair back over your shoulders. “If you need me to stay, you could have just told me so.”

“I don’t need anything,” Ivar says, his pride in the way. Of course, as a real viking, he would never ask such a thing from you. He feels it then-- pressure against his back-- marked out by the softness of breasts pressing his sun kissed skin. You’re up against him, why? Why would you-- it’s that thought that fails him as your hands course through his hair, working the soap into his short hair, bathing him.

“Oh, come on Ivar-- you can say it.”

Say nothing, because he wouldn’t, or couldn’t. His eyes flicker away, following the rippling water, avoiding the feeling of your supple skin against his. He can focus that way on the chirping birds or the simple way the water courses through the rocks toward home.

“Say what?” he grumbles between gnashed teeth.

“You love me.”

Fuck. Ivar bristles because he knows you know and he knows there is no where to run this time. He swallows and looks up, behind him, where you bring cups of water with your hands to run his hair clean. Now, or never, he supposes.

“I love you,” he says short and quick as if the words would bite him if he didn’t make them out quick enough, past the water trickling over his prominent forehead and broad nose, trickling over his full lips, then down his jaw.

“See how easy that was?” you laugh, almost at his expense. Or it feels that way when you kneel behind him, your hands on his shoulders. Your head connects with his shoulder. “I love you too Ivar. I’ll wait for you to come raiding one day. We can do it together.”

Except-- the way you say it doesn’t sound the way he thought it should. It sounded like friends. Something that he’s sick of. Because a man-- a Viking man doesn’t have friends. Not nearly in the way other people had friends.

“...” he calls your name out, alternating you in front of him, in his lap, hovering in the water over his slender legs. With his hands on your hips, you’re forced to stabilize yourself by settling you hand on his shoulders. It’s not like always. It’s not platonic. He knows you have to feel his body crying out the truth because it’s there in front of you. If you had any question about his intentions, it’s erased as his thumb caresses your cheek with gentle restraint. “That’s not what I meant.”

What he meant, you realize, was much more complicated than that. It was his excitement that hovered between your bodies, thrusting you into embarrassment. “...oh,” you find yourself saying. His exhales, born between embarrassment and relief, that you knew. “I think I should go.”

His hand hovers there even when you stand, swash on the shore, and seize your clothes. That-- is why he never bothered to tell you. His worry now? That it’s all ruined. He sits there sadly deflated as your steps pad into mere echoes in his mind.

Aslaug sees a change in her son.

Nevermind that Ragnar has come back. His presence… both a strange, foreign welcome and a damnation on her tongue. He doesn’t sleep in their bed again. Rather, he sleeps on the hillside. Ragnar thinks himself smart but so is she. She has her eyes on the tired king, whose prominent beard, and exhaustion at such a young age has always worn him like a slave collar. Ivar seems desperate for his father’s attention and approval. Alive, if she could say. But in the sense that he was alive. He was also dead.

“Ivar…” she walks in, late at night, catching him sitting there. “What are you doing?”

His fingers flick and bounce before coming up to his jaw. His nose wrinkles up tight with a bundle of lines. Aslaug climbs up the steps to settle on the side of the chair, sitting with her long veil hooking at her delicate elbows. Ivar secures his hand on her side. He knows he shouldn’t be in his father’s chair. And yet, there he is.

“They won’t share,” he tells her. “The slave girl.”

Ah, Aslaug bends her head, the tickle of her newly short hair tickle her jaw. Ivar reaches up to kiss her knuckles, chewing on his cheek, and she softens as she looks at him. “I didn’t know you to be interested in her. I thought…”

“No,” Ivar snaps, snapping back in his chair to look at her, almost aghast. “She doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“Is that true?”

Tch, Ivar hisses, looking away. If it weren’t true-- you’d be here, sitting in his lap. Instead here he was, all alone.

“No, Mother.” He says, “She doesn’t want to be with me.”

“Well,” she caresses his cheek, then stands up. “I heard her tell Hvitserk she would be staying in Kattegat.”

As she descends the steps, Ivar pushes himself to the very front of the chair, crawling down, then after his beautiful mother. “What do you mean?”

“Something about staying for you?”

She holds the curtain apart which allows him to follow in. It’s been… a while. A while since your last bath with him. He imagined that your interest in marriage, at least to him, was nonexistent. He doesn’t understand.

“Me?”

“So she said.”

That… changed things.

“Help me, mother?”

Anything-- absolutely anything-- for her Ivar.

@tephi101 @alicedopey @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia @beyond-the-ashes @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer @medievalfangirl @sallydelys @bluearchersstuff @affectionrabbitt @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage @tgrrose @cookies186 @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim @msmorganforever @beyond-the-ashes @supernaturalvikingwhore @mblaqgi @wuxiesalt @hopplessdreamer @therealcalicali @rekdreams-fandom @moondustmemories @athroatfullofglass @poisonedjoinery @strangunddurm @shookforyoojung @peachesnpisces @tierneygonzalez @hexqueensupreme @nohemi2500 @queenmissfit @alicedopey @dmv49 @sallylebecks @terrainhead @mybarnesmyhero @youurkryptonite @lif3snotouttogetyou @vikingsmania @looneytunes20033 @bat-fam-blob @oneofthelothbroks @lovelynerdytraveler @chinduda @whatamood13 @honeyofthegods @ilvebeenabad @queenbeeta @wonderlandofsu Please tell me if you received this tag-- because I’m trying to see if copy paste from my draft works.

#ivar x reader #ivar/reader #Ivar Ragnarsson x Reader #ivar the boneless x reader #vikings imagine #Vikings imagines #honestsycrets fics #the vikings imagines #the vikings imagine #vikings x reader

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opalescentegg · 3 years

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Opal, if you have some free time in your hands!! Yesterday, at the dinner table, we were talking the Plague, which led us to Medieval Europe, which let to my dad talking about how They Didn't Bathe Back then. "They didn't even have soap!" Now, I know the soap part is ridiculous, soap is old as balls. But, like. Did Medieval Europe really not bath. Was this like, really widespread for a very long time or is it Renascence propaganda.

No problem! Medieval people definitely, absolutely, did bathe. How frequently that happened and how they did it varied greatly depending on the century we’re talking about and an individuals socio-economic status, but as a rule no one was just stewing in their own filth. A well known example is the Vikings, who bathed every Saturday. Later nobles would have large wooden tubs of heated water for bathing in their homes; sometimes a tub that would be moved into their chambers, sometimes a separate room where such tubs would be filled and heated. For people who could afford in-home baths such as this, it was popular to have the bathwater scented with herbs or other aromatics. Most towns had a few bathhouses, so men and women would go there if they didn’t have a way to bathe (in the sense of being fully immersed) in their own homes. I’m not sure how frequently they visited, but it was frequent enough for the Church to constantly rail about how they were dens of sin and the like (so probably pretty frequently). Hell, they were common enough that Albrecht Dürer did a famous woodcutting literally called “The Men’s Bath.” Some depictions of bathers even show men and women bathing together, though it seems likely that the women in such scenes were sex workers. I’ve seen it posited that that was the reason the Church famously warned against “excessive bathing” --- not in telling people to not be clean, but rather telling them to stay away from the bathhouses, places where (in their minds) “bathing” was synonymous with soliciting sex and encouraging other sinful behavior. For the peasantry, a bath might mean going down to the local river or lake, or it might mean filling a large tub with water, that water then being shared by an entire family. I’m not sure whether the water would have been heated, since that was a pretty labor intensive process. That being said, peasants were likely washing themselves pretty frequently simply given the fact that they were often involved in dirty, sweaty, laborious work --- they might only fully bathe once a week or every other week, but they still washed regularly in between those times, even if it was only with a simple bowl of water. Perhaps the most important aspect of personal cleanliness for all classes, though, was the washing the hands before and after meals. It’s hard to overstate just how important this was, and as the Middle Ages went on it became a highly ritualized part of any noble banquet, complete with a special bowl just for washing the hands. Less spectacularly, but just as importantly, people washed their faces regularly as well. All this being said, there actually was a time during which doctors claimed that bathing was harmful: the 16th through 18th centuries. In other words, the later Renaissance and a good chunk of the Enlightenment; periods that belong more appropriately to the Early Modern period rather than the Middle Ages. Those oh-so-glorious times of reclaimed classical learning and the emergence of scientific thought. That’s when doctors were putting forth the idea that bathing with warm water would open your pores and allow all kinds of nastiness in. According to a really excellent book I’m currently reading, it was a time when “corporal fluids were deemed healthy to the body and were infrequently removed” --- the author terms is the “cult of bodily filth.” King Louis XIII, born in 1601, was recorded as not having been washed until the age of five, and not fully bathed until the age of seven. So, no, the Middle Ages were not a time when basic human hygiene disappeared (though the level to which is was practiced in Europe probably wasn’t as thorough as other places, notably the contemporaneous Middle East). I suspect that the reason the myth of the mud-caked medieval peasant grew was due in part to the filthiness of the centuries that came after the Middle Ages proper, which later scholars then conflated with the medieval period itself. (I don’t really know the path this conflation took, though I think the fact that a lot of people still tend to conceptualize “medieval times” as going from the Vikings to whenever powdered wigs became A Thing is proof enough of its veracity. I suspect the later Enlightenment thinkers had something to do with it, because they really needed to feel superior to everything.)

#ace-and-ranty #history #medieval #this is one of my least favorite myths about the medieval period and i Relished getting to tear it down #so thanks for that!

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kinnaman-smorgasbord · 4 years

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Esquire Singapore Dec 2019 - Joel Kinnaman Interview

OBSERVERVABLE ACTS

Editor-in-Chief: Norman Tan Photography: Michael Schwartz Stylist: Chloe Hartstein Groomer: Kristan Serafino Story: Wayne Cheong

Instead of a rooftop shoot that we had planned, we’re indoors at Dune Studios on Water Street. Outside, the weather is every writer’s dream: “It is an ash-streaked sky that portents a downpour.” “Like a warning, steel wool hangs overhead.” “A dishevelled blanket of grey that drifts languidly like detritus in a muddied pond.” A wet weather doth not a good shoot make.

When Joel Kinnaman arrives, the first thing you notice is how large he is. Bigger than life, broad-chested, he sometimes stands astride, like he’s about to break the spirit of a wild stallion. Then, there’s that presence; a sort of aura that’s quiet but still strong-arms you for your attention.

Just as the fashion shoot is about to start, Kinnaman asks if he could put on his own playlist for the shoot. He brings up his Spotify playlist, titled ‘For some of mankind’. ‘What Becomes of the Brokenhearted’ by Jimmy Ruffin plays.

“The playlists are just for fun,” Kinnaman tells me. “I’ve made a playlist for every project that I’ve been in.”

The project that this particular playlist was made for is For All Mankind, now playing on Apple TV+. It’s a show that puts forth the idea: what if America lost the space race to Russia?

Created and written by Ronald D Moore, the visionary behind the reimagined Battlestar Galactica and Outlander, For All Mankind stars Kinnaman as Edward Baldwin, a NASA astronaut who works alongside Buzz Aldrin (Chris Agos) and Neil Armstrong (Jeff Branson). Kinnaman’s character isn’t based on a particular historical figure, instead he is a composite or a representative of the ‘all-American’ astronauts of that era.

“I’m half-American and half-Swedish,” Kinnaman says. “I’ve lived in Sweden and America so, in a way, I’ve a split identity. My favourite part of the American spirit is not giving up. If they get knocked down, it is a national honour in getting back up and continuing the fight. In reality, when the US got to the moon, it concluded the space race. We didn’t get the continuation in space exploration that everyone was promised.”

Kinnaman is drawn to the science-fiction genre, fantasising of what could have been (though it can be said that the broad field of fiction can also put forward, ‘ what if’). Growing up, he watched the Star Wars movies, he loved the cyberpunk feel when he shot Altered Carbon. He is a fan of Blade Runner due to its dystopian future.

Do you think that sci-fi’s dystopian trope is becoming a reality? Kinnaman muses on that. “We’ve a president who is a national and international embarrassment. He’s immoral, a compulsive liar, a narcissist who doesn’t respect or appreciate democracy. I pray and hope that this nightmare would soon come to an end.

“But I believe we have the potential to overcome this. If we change paths and realign our focus in coming together as a human family, we can solve whatever problems that come our way together.”

This sentiment is echoed in For All Mankind, although the loss wasn’t the be-all and end-all for America. According to Moore, in losing the space race, America ends up the winner in the long run because of the continual effort into space exploration.

“Art can be a little lazy in pointing out the negatives. In many instances, the role that art and the artist play is showing us what’s wrong: that’s important but showcasing the positives is equally important. For All Mankind shows us how we should be operating if we are guided by our better angels.”

Physicist and theoretical biologist, Erwin Schrödinger, came up with a thought experiment. Imagine, if you will, a cat that’s sealed in a box. And inside that box is a device that might or might not kill the cat. Quantum theory states that quantum particles can exist in a superposition of states at the same time. Some even theorise that the quantum particles will collapse to a single state when it’s observed. When applied to Schrödinger’s cat, the feline is both dead and alive until you open the box.

Schrödinger came up with this thought experiment to explain that “misinterpreted simplification of quantum theory can lead to absurd results which don’t match real world quantum physics”. In the real world, it’s absurd that the cat is both dead and alive at the same time.

But one can also see this as an example of how the scientific theory works. Nobody really knows if a theory is right or wrong until it can be tested and proved. It’s like asking someone out on a date, you don’t know if that cute girl or guy will go out with you until you ask; the possibilities of rejection and acceptance remain in co-existence.

That is before you open the box.

Observe: Joel Kinnaman wouldn’t have existed if his father, Steve, had not defected from the US Army. An Indianapolis native, the elder Kinnaman was drafted and stationed in Bangkok, Thailand during the Vietnam War. While he was there, he started spending time with European backpackers, who have a different perspective of the war. A seed was planted. It finally blossomed when he attended a friend’s wedding in Laos. “It turned out that the woman’s family was half Laotian and half Vietnamese,” Kinnaman says. “It was an emotional moment for my dad. He asked himself if these were the people that he was going to kill.”

Still reeling from the love he had witnessed, the elder Kinnaman returned to his base. It was then that he was given the news that he was being reassigned to the battlefront in Vietnam.

In the history of war, the common punishment for desertion is death. According to the US Uniform Code of Military Justice, Article 85, it is meted out “by death of other such punishment as a court-martial may direct”. (Since the Civil War, only one American serviceman was executed for desertion: Private Eddie Slovik in 1945.)

Knowing the penalties for desertion, the elder Kinnaman made the decision that night to leave camp. He hitchhiked his way up into northern Thailand and into Laos. He burned his passport, changed his name and passed off as Canadian. For the next four years, he lived life among the Laotians doing odd jobs. Then, he found out that Sweden grants asylum to Vietnam deserters. Since moving to Sweden, President Jimmy Carter eventually issued an amnesty in 1977. The elder Kinnaman continues to reside in Sweden. After his first marriage ended, he was involved with Bitte, a therapist. This relationship yielded Joel.

“I’ve been working on the script about his life,” Kinnaman says. “The idea would be that I’d play my dad but I’m getting a little old.” It’s a story to be told, one about the dangers of blind patriotism; a tool that’s often exploited by governments. “We need to be critical individuals who should make up our own minds.”

Observe: Kinnaman had his first taste of acting when he was 10. He played Felix Lundström on Storstad, a soap opera that looks at the lives of the residents living in the fictional town of Malmtorget. Back then, Sweden had only two TV channels so even if it’s a secondary or even tertiary role on an ensemble piece, people will recognise you. “I didn’t understand it,” Kinnaman says. “There was something thrilling about being famous but there was something I didn’t like about it either.” His whole experience as a child actor was underwhelming.

In fact, taking a page from ‘history repeating itself ’, observe as Kinnaman could have been a soldier in the Swedish army.

“It was mandatory for the men to be conscripted for a year in the army and it was during my time when the rules for enlistment started to relax,” Kinnaman says. “If you didn’t want to enlist, all you have to do is purposely fail the proficiency tests.”

Alas, Kinnaman was so caught up in the competition that he aced it. His results showed potential to be a company leader. He was enlisted and assigned to an 18-month tour in the Arctic Circle but Kinnaman plum forgot about it. When he moved to Oslo, Norway, to be a bartender, he received a call from his mother, informing him that there was a government notice stating that he was supposed to enlist in three days.

He called the army to tell them that he was no longer in the country. “They said, this is a serious offence and I could get prison time for this. But if I were to write a letter to explain the situation, I could get out of this.” And then he forgot to write the letter. Kinnaman continued working odd jobs but he was always haunted by the thought that if he were ever to be arrested by the police for anything, they might discover his draft dodge from his records and he would be sent to prison.

“I ended up at this fight outside a night club and got taken in by the police.” Kinnaman says. Observe: Kinnaman could have ended up serving his sentence for draft dodging but nothing came of it.

Acting was calling out to him once more. His friend, Gustaf Skarsgård (famously known for his role as Floki in History Channel’s Vikings), was on track to becoming an actor and advised Kinnaman to apply for theatre school. After several applications, Kinnaman finally got into what he describes as “Sweden’s second-best acting school” and would go on to film two movies during his enrolment.

After graduation, he continued acting in Sweden before moving to America. He kept himself busy. He made an appearance in The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo; starred as Governor Will Conway in House of Cards; made people notice with his portrayal as the homicide detective, Stephen Holder; scored the lead role in the Robocop remake; was cast as Rick Flag in Suicide Squad.

The one genre that Kinnaman can’t seem to appear in is comedy. Yes, he has a stern demeanour but the man is also funny. “Sometimes, Hollywood sees you in a certain way and it’s much easier to get cast for it. And the next is similar to that and so on. I haven’t made an effort to dissuade people’s opinion. The lighter side is probably more me.”

The closest he has gotten to doing comedy is the shooting of the Suicide Squad sequel. Helmed by James Gunn, Kinnaman said in another interview that it feels like he’s “shooting his first comedy”.

“I’ve been around tough people with issues before,” Kinnaman continues. “I’ve had some bad times so those kind of environments were natural to be in. It’s a survival mechanism too. A way for me to cope as I grew up. At the time, you’re figuring out about your identity. I felt insecure, powerless and didn’t know what to do in life.

“It was a period of my life that was pretty negative. But one of the beauties of acting is that those dark periods become a mother lode that you can mine from. Maybe I’ve drawn a little bit too much from it by playing too many tough guys.”

In May 2016, Kinnaman was one of the delegates and personalities from Denmark, Norway, Iceland, Finland and Sweden who was invited to one of President Obama’s final state dinners. Kinnaman, dressed in a sharp tuxedo, attended the dinner with his then-wife, Cleo Wattenström.

He overheard that the Obamas were fans of House of Cards and was looking forward to being introduced to them. At the reception, he and the other representatives stood in a row as President Obama made his way down the line, shaking hands and posing for a photo op. By Kinnaman’s admission, his mind wandered as he imagined what he’d say when President Obama came up to him. “Maybe I’d say, ‘Mr President’, and then he’ll say ‘Governor Conway’, and then we’ll laugh. And we’ll end it with a cool handshake.”

And all of a sudden, the president stood before him and Kinnaman muttered, “Mr President…” There was an awkward pause. Kinnaman would recount that it’s very possible that either the Obamas hadn’t watched the episode that he was in or if they did, his presence made zero impact. Before the silence could prolong, Kinnaman ended with, “thanks… for everything”. President Obama said something along the lines of, “Surely but surely, we cannot lose hope” and Kinnaman was ushered off.

He would retell this story when he introduced President Obama at Brilliant Minds, a conference of creative individuals who embody the forward-thinking spirit of Sweden, in June 2019. After the introduction, he returned backstage, where President Obama was waiting for his cue to go up. “He had this huge smile on his face and he said to me, ‘bring it in for a cool handshake.’ We hugged, we talked for about five minutes. He was super friendly. I’ll always remember that moment.”

Kinnaman isn’t shy about his politics. He voiced support for the #metoo movement; he had championed the environmental cause by one of his fellow Swedes, Greta Thunberg; he does not hide his disdain for the Trump administration.

“I think the last UN report stated that we have about eight years to turn back our carbon expenditure into the atmosphere,” Kinnaman says about where we’re heading as a species. “You don’t have to be a prophet to see that the world is heading towards the wrong direction. The oceans are heating up, the glaciers are melting. These natural disasters will be more frequent and that’s gonna lead to more tensions among countries.

“Politically, we’re moving towards a more nativist direction; people are pulling away from international cooperation. There’s the rise in disinformation campaigns, which will threaten democracy.”

But Kinnaman, ever the optimist, still believes in the human spirit, that we can innovate our way out of this quagmire.

Observe: Kinnaman, who was born with pectus excavatum, chose to correct the disorder instead of living with it.

Pectus excavatum is a chest-wall deformity that affects roughly one in 400. Instead of the breastbone being flush against the chest, it sinks in. Measured on a scale called the Haller index, anything above an index of 3.2 is considered severe. Kinnaman’s index was a seven or an eight.

“It’s something that’s survivable,” Kinnaman explains. “But it’s a condition that grows worse over time: your posture becomes worse; your stamina worsens as your heart is not given room to pump. By correcting it you can add years to your life.”

For a condition this severe, doctors had to insert two curved metal bars across his chest. Then the bars are turned to force the chest out and then the bars are wired to his ribs. The operation changed his life for the better. He doesn’t feel self-conscious whenever he removes his top. Six weeks after his surgery, he had to do reshoots for Suicide Squad. It was a fight sequence but Kinnaman sucked it up. “Would you like to feel it?” He asked.

He raised his arm like an invitation. I reached out and felt the spot, where the metal bars are, beneath the fabric and skin.

That’s an interesting party trick, I say. Kinnaman could only chuckle in response.

“It’s funny, if you ask me to say a line from a movie that I’ve been in before, I can’t. Not one line from any movie that I’ve done but I once did a monologue that was one hour and 30 minutes and I knew it by heart after 10 days.”

Kinnaman used to opine that as a Swedish American, growing up with dual cultures gives him a better perspective of the world but that also left him feeling like he doesn’t belong. He jumps from place to place, leading a nomadic existence.

“But I think,” he says as though he had stumbled upon some great truth a long time back, “I don’t wanna travel so much any more. Home. That’s where I’d like to be. I have two bases: one in Venice, LA and the other, an hour outside Stockholm.

“Growing up, my family didn’t have any money. We lived in this tiny little cottage that was in the middle of the woods. Now, I have this piece of land, where my family lives. This past midsummer was the first midsummer that we all spent together.

“That’s my new happy place.”

Joel Kinnaman looks like a man who has placed the final piece in that mystery of his life. He has stopped worrying about how he’s perceived by the public. He has exorcised people who have “struggled with jealousy, who don’t have a natural inclination towards generosity”. He has zero tolerance against bullshit. He likes how his career is shaping up—aside from Suicide Squad 2, For All Mankind is now filming a second season, and Kinnaman has three films coming out: The Informer; The Sound of Philadelphia and The Secrets We Keep; the last two, he avers, are his best work. “People who have watched me for a long time, it will remind them of my early career and for people who recently followed me, they will see a new side of me.

“I have goals that I’d like to achieve. Actor awards are such bullshit… until you get one. But yeah, that would be great. In future, I’d definitely want to be in a producing role and at some point, I’d like to also direct.

“I’ve said that I’d direct in five years time for about 10 years now.” That might change. His life is still a long and open road ahead.

Schrodinger’s cat posits two states that the creature can be in—dead or alive. But what if there’s a third option. That within the confines of the box, the cat is not there. It’s escaped. Unburdened from the stipulations of a thought experiment, free to do what it wants.

#photoshoot #magazine #joel kinnaman #esquire singapore #interview #we feed on scraps of new info #ive linked his Spotify playlist for people who missed it in march

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watchmebackflip75 · 4 years

Text

How to Train Your Wizard

Maybe I wrote a RED SHOES story involving a Viking. No it’s not those dragon riding Vikings.

SourceURL:https://archiveofourown.org/works/25142545 How to Train Your Wizard - BleedingHeart911 - Red Shoes and the 7 Dwarfs (2019) [Archive of Our Own]

… The mermaids of the beach found the tourist humans too odd by a starfish-half. Giant umbrella over their fully clothed bodies; these landmaids were in the wrong climate. The strange landfolk separated from nature further by sitting in lounging chairs as if the boulders in the ocean weren’t cool enough.

“Gotta love that sun.” Snow White said under her sunhat. In one hand she fanned her soft chin, in the other her fingers laced in her boyfriend’s hand.

“Yes, and this fresh sea breeze.” Merlin said dozily, his eyelids closing under his sun-obstacles. He snapped his long fingers and a candle enchanted with bug-repellent burned green and smelled like a sunflower. They sighed in unison, their cares slipping away.

The cawing of seagulls became the yelps of scared mermaids. Snow and Merlin open a single eye each to see a wooden dragon raging towards the shoreline.

“Who would think building a giant dragon puppet easier than taking the beast as a pet?” Merlin asked as he dropped his lite beach-rob. He flipped through the spell-cards in his belt-satchel.

“Sweetie, that’s a Viking’s ship. You might want to pull out a big zapper.” Snow said as she closed their umbrella. Merlin had his magic, she had the strength to stab and whack. They sped-walked to the gentle waves, weapons in hand but allowing the strangers to arrive.

“Never fought a Viking before. Heard they’re like minotaur-pirates without dental plans.” Merlin said, watching the huge sails.

“That’s the stereotype. It’s not untrue but I’ve known some exceptions.” Snow said as the boat pushed into the sand.

Merlin smirked, he thought about asking if his princess had known a lot of disgusting pirates growing up in the sheltered ballrooms. He didn’t ask since the horned, hairy, man-like fiends jumped onto the beach, shaking the earth.

The hairy beasts groaned in warning, weapons in hand though they stood in wait. A huge, maybe seven-foot-tall, yellow-haired beast jumped off the side. His smell made Merlin’s stomach turn.

“I’m going to hit him with a soap-spell first.” Merlin said as he raised a spell-card.

Snow grabbed his hand, “Wait a minute. Brutechel?”

Under the unruly hair and horned-helmet Merlin saw bright blue eyes and the scruffy stubble of a young man’s sickly smile.

“Snow! You’re alright!” The Viking exclaimed, swinging his mallets over his head.

Snow laughed and ran into Brutechel’s hug. The Viking’s thick muscles had no problem raising Snow off her feet in a twirl. The sight disgusted Merlin; he felt a flicker of lightning trickle up his thin arms.

Brutechel placed Snow back on the sand and held her fair little hands in his hammy ham-hands.

“I wanted to come sooner- when I heard about your step-mother –“

“It’s fine, we’re fine. You had your reasons for not-“

“No, my chief hid your letters. He had- I had no idea… You must have thought I was the most selfish son of troll.” Brutechel said with regret.

“Never.” Snow’s big brown eyes looked up at the young man two-heads taller than she.

Brutechel sighed deeply with tears of joy. “Thank Odin you’re alright.”

“Yes, she is.” Merlin stated loudly, stepping to Snow’s side. He put an arm around her possessively and said, “Hi, I’m the hero who saved the White Castle, among others. Merlin, leader of the Fearless Seven, I’m sure you heard of us.”

“Thought you guys were a democracy.” Snow said, dropping her hands from Brutechel’s grip.

“When my quick thinking and skill can’t find an advantage, yes we can be.” Merlin amended.

“Oh, yeah I have heard the F Seven. Thought they died a year ago?” Brutechel said, eyeing the overly-groomed fishbone holding Snow.

“Sabbatical.” Snow shrugged slightly annoyed with Merlin’s bragging, “So yeah, Brutechel this is Merlin, Merlin this is my dear old…. Brutechel.”

Both boys heard her take a beat to avoid using ‘old/ ex boyfriend’.

“Uh-huh.” Brutechel said, folding his ox-like muscles across his chest.

“Yep.” Merlin said with a pop of his lips.

Snow groaned through a smile and pushed Merlin’s hand off her shoulder. “Bea, tell me you didn’t come all this way just for me and my problems.”

“I would’ve crossed any seas if I thought you were in danger.” Brutechel said gently.

Merlin tried to say something but Snow spoke over him with, “Then the least we can do is invite you to dinner.”

“I’d be honored, Snow Bunny.” Brutechel said, barely moving his eyes from Snow, “That alright with you, chum?”

“Of course, and allow me to cook for you, bud.” Merlin said with a very fake smile.

“I’ll bring something over, that fine with you, Murray?” Brutechel said unamused.

“Don’t go out of your way, Brutus, any allergies I should know about?” Merlin asked stepping closer.

“Nope, but I don’t eat meat or dairy, dude.” The Viking said, crouching over string-bean.

“You’re a Vegan Viking, lad?” Merlin asked, noticing a few teeth were metal and gold.

“You bet your pointy hat, pal.” Brutechel said, wondering when non-Viking men started wearing perfume.

Merlin held back a flicker of lightning in his palm, “We’ll keep that in mind, and don’t trouble yourself with dessert. I know a guy.”

“I know a guy, too.” Brutechel said, curling and uncurling his fist.

“Oh boy,” Snow said drily, she clapped her hands, “You guys, hey.”

They both stared at her, their postures aligned to pounce.

“How about we all agree to meet at the castle around sunset? That good for you, Brutechel?”

The smelly oaf softened, “Oh course, Bunny, I look forward to tonight.”

“Me too.” Snow said sweetly as she grabbed Merlin’s arm, “Let’s go get ready.”

“Of course, my darling.” Merlin said, looping his arm around Snow’s elbow. “Now don’t you pillage when we turn our backs.”

Snow pinched his arm and they waved to the Vikings to Brutechel’s horde. The couple noticed some had buckets of popcorn. The Vikings waived back in a friendly manner.

On Risky Rock, Arthur’s laugh dug so deep the side of his dwarf-green abbs began to ache.

“Pure barry,” Merlin’s oldest friend said while beating the table. “Snow use to date a Viking? One of those lugs would use you like a toothpick. This has to be killing you, Merlin!” “Shut up, Arthur.” Merlin said while pouting in his chair at their oval table.

“Poor Merlin, the cute cure to your curse came with some burly baggage.” Jack said, also still green, small and polishing his nails to a shine. Pino, Noki and Kio stated different similes for Jack’s alliteration.

“I really can’t see how a girl as lovely and demur as Snow would ever even think of going near one of those filthy vandals.” Merlin said, relieved he could complain far from his girlfriend’s ears.

“Ah, la vache, you would’ve said the same thing about your squat little self when she met you.” Jack countered. Arthur was still chortlings, rolling on the floor.

Merlin rolled his eyes, “I really doubt there’s anything hidden in that bear. But it is so like her to take a stray home and try to bathe it.”

“I’ve tried to do the same thing will all of you.” Jack stated, causing Hans’ brow to wrinkle in confusion. The ginger chef came out with meatless stroganoff in a glass dish with painted candies dancing around the sides.

“Here, Merlin, I replaced the beef with tofu.” Hans said. He liked trying an old dish with a new twist.

“Right, I’ll return it tomorrow.” Merlin said, he wondered if he poisoned the tofu would it hurt Hans’ feelings. After he closed the door his friends hovered at the oval table.

“We’re going to that dinner, right?” Hans asked in the huddle.

“Affirmative.” Pino said cheerfully.

“You got that right.” Said Niko.

“Let’s bring a boardgame.” Kio said.

In the White Castle the princess set the table. The incident of her step-mother, may she rest in peace, turning her entire court and staff into trees made rehiring very difficult. Princess Snow didn’t mind setting the table, it reminded her of childhood tea parties. The memories of the princess guests judging her when she ate a cookie or scone wasn’t so nice. Snow accepted the past, forgave the foolish, remembered how Princess Katherine got kicked by a unicorn for being too boney and looked forward to her future.

“Have you thought about hiring elves? I hear they’re inexpensive.” Merlin said as he folded the napkins into swans.

“I sent notice, and I offered to pay them above the average non-human rate. Did you know Elves can catch all the same diseases we can and still don’t get health insurance?” Snow said, lighting candles.

“Shame. But they should be grateful at least one saintly princess cares.” Merlin said, taking her hand and kissing the back of it.

“Aww. Oh, thanks for getting Hans’ dish.” Snow said, raising the lid to see the home-rolled pasta Hans made. He rolled two different colored pastas to look like a candy cane swirl.

“Gladly. Do something for me, darling?” Merlin asked with a handsome smile.

“What’s that?”

“Cancel on Brute-a-chelli and enjoy a private dinner with me?”

“Merlin.” Snow said in a balanced tone.

“Whhhhhy are you making me hang out with the man who’s obviously still in love with you? How do you think that makes me feel??” Merlin whined.

Snow put a hand to her hip and raised her fingers as she made these points; “Okay, One; he’s not still in love with me, two: he’s a great guy I think you’d like after you get to know him, three: because I want to remain friends with Brutechel he needs to see the wonderful man I’ve chosen.”

The doubt that any man would be evolved enough to see his former love happy with a new beau ran deep in Merlin. He carefully considered choosing his words so he could squash her hopes in the most respectful route.

Snow placed her hands on his chest. “How about this? You really try to be nice tonight and after I’ll show you the flexible Valkyrie dress in my closet.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow, “Bribe accepted.”

Brutechel brought a salad in what looked like a giant yak skull. Merlin didn’t like pesto but he generously complimented the inscriptions carved in the bone-bowl. Brutechel the Kittenish was an animal lover. He had a zoo of pets on his ship and more at home; all rescues. At age six he tamed a sabertooth tiger and dedicated the rest of his life to respecting and caring for beasts found during sailing by the family business. Officially the ‘family business’ was exclusive pottery and dishes from ‘recycled’ materials. The wizard found the doe-eyed Viking simple and boring. Merlin became less jealous the more Brutechel droned on about different feeding tests. To his joy he noticed Snow was only polite with the guest, she appreciated the kindness but was only just not asleep in her goblet.

“Oh look, the bottle’s getting low. Excuse me, I’ll grab a refill. Any preference?” Merlin merrily asked.

Brutechel took the last glup of his goblet. “More of this, please.”

“Yes, thank you.” Snow said, her porcelain cheeks a light pink.

Brutechel watched the skinny snob leave the room. He searched for his courage and gazed at the glorious queen before him.

“So how’s your cousin with the pegle-“

“Bunny, I love you!” Brutechel admitted, his eyes wide with seriousness.

A lump formed in Snow’s throat. “What?”

“I am crazy about you, so how about we leave and talk about the rest of our lives for the rest of our lives?” Brutechel said, leaned him large hands over to hold her.

Snow gently whacked them with her soup spoon. “Brutechel, no! How can you say that to me with my boyfriend around?”

“He’s not around now. And Bunny, come on, he can’t protect you from bears.” Brutechel said, surprised she wasn’t thanking him for the out from the malnourished lizard.

“Why do you always bring it back to bears?” Snow winced and raised her hands, “No, I am not engaging in this conversation again. I say no, Bea.”

“But he’s so…. Shrimpy!”

“He’s also kind and clever and cute in all the ways and I choose him.” Snow said, putting a hand over her heart.

Brutechel felt his heart drop. He looked over Snow’s shoulder to see the smug sorcerer dancing and meeting his eyes with a poking tongue.

“I’m not sorry, I love Merlin.” Snow continued, not aware in the slightest the Merlin was making insulting gestures of victory to the denied suitor.

“You sure about that?” Brutechel asked, growing agitated at the arrogant snake’s dance.

“Yes.” Snow said with resound certainty, “I love him with all my heart.”

Brutechel groaned, “I want you to be happy, Snow White. I should go.”

“I do want you to be happy too, Bea.” Snow said, she felt pity that such a kind soul hadn’t found his right person yet.

The Viking slung his bear-skin over his shoulder and said not to worry about returning the skull-bowl.

Slipping back to the pantry Merlin soundlessly stomped the floor in glee. He picked a random wine bottle, did a twirl, and swung his arms without shame. He had no idea the Dwarf Six were watching him under Jack’s invisibility cloak. He muffled their laughter and followed the goofy friend to the dinning hall entrance. Merlin exhaled his delight and put on a façade of indifference when he approached Snow.

“Here we are, darling. How’s your goblet, Brutty? Oh my goodness, where did he go?” Merlin asked in phony surprise.

“He said he had to turn in for an early sail.” Snow fibbed, her face a little slumped.

“I see. Oh, dear. I’m sorry you’re disappointed.” Merlin wasn’t completely fibbing.

“It's how it goes.” Snow said as he kissed the top of her head.

“It’s getting late, we can raincheck the skimpy outfit you promised me.” Merlin said, he was already happy with the night so he could extend the excitement.

“Really? Honestly yeah, I’m not feeling it right now.” Snow said, placing her napkin on her plate. “I’ll clean up if you get the pillows cleared off.”

“I’ll clean, you get the cuddle chamber ready.” Merlin said as he took Hans’ dishware to the kitchen. Placing the dish in soapy water Merlin caught his reflection in a shiny tea pot.

“Hello gorgeous,” Merlin said to himself, “The smelly beast is gone and now Snow can get Merlin’d happily.”

Lightly parting his hair Merlin noticed a figure on the slant of the teapot. Instinct had him swiftly crouch down and miss the blow of the sink-size mallet. Merlin jumped up to see Hans’ dishware was intact, good, and he slapped a spell-card on the assailant behind him. The man was four times thicker so there was plenty of target. Merlin slide to the side and clapped his hands for a blast of lightning.

Brutechel blew the smoke from the burnt spot on his pec. The blast stung like a bee.

“Okay, let’s talk about this.” Brutechel offered, he felt a bad sport to attack such a soft puncher.

“Oh lets.” Merlin raised more spells in his fingers, “You got dumped, I make Snow happier,”

The wizard said this as they walked around a kitchen island. “Brute, chum, you can leave with a smidgen of dignity and I can be alone with the woman I adore. Or I zap you until your thick skull is a soup bowl”

Brutechel scoffed as they circled the steak knife set.

“You have tricks up your sleeve where Snow lays out her heart. My Bunny doesn’t need that.” Brutechel said as he threw a ladle at the wizard’s head.

Merlin dodged the ladle and threw a lightning bolt at the Viking's face. The stubble wouldn’t kindle but the ungroomed eyebrows burned clean off. Brutechel grabbed the saucepan and swung it in his palm.

“From what I heard you haven’t a clue what she needs.” Merlin said, he held up his arms so her magic could block the blows. “And you are the worst listener!”

Braced for another punch Merlin felt winded when nothing met his sizzling force fields. He lowered his guard to see Brutechel kneeled on the floor, hands down at his side.

“Go ahead, demon-whisperer, take me out so my Bunny can live in peace.” Brutechel said sadly, offering his thick neck open to a strike.

“Oh get up. As much as I loathe hearing you call my love ‘Bunny’,” Merlin rolled his eyes and shook with revulsion, “it’s no sport to disfigure a martyr.”

Brutechel nodded at the reasoning. He stood up, a head taller than Merlin, and wiped his hands, “If I ever hear you hurt her, I will use your straw arms for oyster forks.”

“Sure. Want a meal for the road, er, sea?” Merlin offered, he pointed to the pantry of fresh vegetables.

“Oh come on!” An oh too familiar voice bellowed from the shadows. Merlin groaned with annoyance while the spooked Brutechel searched for the demon source. Arthur threw off the cloak and slapped Merlin’s thigh.

“Mate, if you don’t defend Snow-belle’s honor I will disown!” The cursed prince said.

“Demon!” Brutechel yelled, grabbing his mallet and aiming to smash the little green monster. The mini monster caught the mallet’s face and pulled it from the Viking’s hand.

“No, I wouldn’t do it right. You can go right ahead.” Merlin said flatly, the two lug-heads were already crashing and destroying the royal kitchen.

The rest of the group sat on the kitchen island, eating the leftovers. One of the triplets shook a dice inside a cup.

“Hey.” Jack nonchalantly said, signaling they would clean up before the sun rose.

“Hey yourself.” Merlin waved in a quiet thanks to his friends. He rolled his neck and walked to Snow’s bedroom.

A lit candle was left on her nightstand. Snow faced away from the glow as she slept. In the pajamas that matched hers Merlin slid between the sheets. He pulled her head under his chin and lightly ran his fingers over her skin.

“You took a while. I should’ve helped washed.” Snow yawned against his neck.

“You're fine, darling. You're perfect.” Merlin quietly told her, he snapped his finger and the flame sparked away.

#red shoes and the seven dwarfs #red shoes and the 7 dwarfs #red shoes #merlin #arthur #prince arthur #jack #pino #noki #kio #hans #snow white

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ghouljams · 9 months

Note

Viking soap! Viking soap! Viking soap!

Grrrrrrrr Yes ok yes because I am feral for this idea and you're partially engaging a special interest of mine.

You spot him at the same moment he does you. A flash of blue eyes reflecting the shallow river, long hair shorn short on the sides, the fur the edges his clothes marks him as easily as the paint on his face. A viking. He stands as quickly as you step back, his eyes fixed on you. If he's here there must be more at your village. You know well enough that these men don't travel as solitary creatures.

You turn and run towards your home. You hear the crash of him through the forest behind you giving chase. Even knowing the land as well as you do the terrain is uneven, the roots are made to catch your feet, and the branches are low to obscure your vision. You don't have the deer's advantage of darting movement to keep you out of reach. Each step you can hear him getting closer, until you feel his hands grab you.

The man, the viking, catches you around your middle. You kick and scream and make every effort to batter him with your fists, to make yourself difficult prey. You've heard enough stories about what these men do to know you want no part of it. He lifts you, hauls you up off the ground as you fight and twist.

"Would you be still, I'm not going to hurt you," The man tells you in gaelic. You freeze at the familiar tongue.

"You're a liar," You push at him, claw at his grip, "why would you chase me if you weren't hunting me?"

"Why would you run?" He asks, grabbing your wrists to pin them against his chest. You glare at him, your chest heaving as you gather your breath back. He's handsome, for a viking. There's something sort of rakish about the stubble on his face and the set of his brow. "Did I do something to scare you, bonnie?" It's not an honest question, he knows full well why you'd run.

You keep quiet, keep your glare level with him. An easy task with him holding you up, his arm hooked around your thighs. His head tips back to look at you with a smile. "Aren't you pretty," He whispers, hardly phased by the run or your anger. When you don't respond he seems to find his head again, his smile dropping to something more serious.

"Fine, courting later, business now." He sets you back down, keeping a tight grip on your wrists now that you've proven yourself a runner. "I'm here to negotiate a trade, I need an escort," He explains, though you would think a man needing an escort would have a shorter handle on the ax at his hip.

"A bad liar," You amend your previous statement, tugging at his hold.

"Fine," He relents, "I want an escort. Escort me." He insists, tugging you against his chest again. You're really getting tired of bumping into him.

"Why? So you can lead a raiding party back as soon as I turn around?" You spit.

“To what end?” The viking asks, tips his head to the side, his eyes hard on you, “What use do we have for dead healers?”

You stop your struggling, stunned. He’s not wrong, but he speaks to an understanding of your village you hadn’t expected. How much did this man and his company know about you? How many scouts had walked your paths, watched your neighbors work? He’s right, dead healers are useless, but so are port healers. Vikings are only as strong as their weakest man, wouldn’t they prefer to keep healers on hand?

“You said-” You swallow, “You said you were here to negotiate a trade. What- A trade for what?” He looks away from you, and you have your answer. You were right to run, he’s here for one of you.

“Let’s go,” He doesn’t pull you, but you follow him anyway. Your mind races, thinking through the people your elders would offer up. Who was the most skilled, the most expendable, weighing what you might get in return. What couldn’t these vikings offer you? Safety, rare goods, money, animals, friendship. Invaluable intangible things that would aid all of you, for whatever price they set. It’s still only the illusion of a choice.

Your wrist is still held tight in his grip as you walk beside him. An escort, what a joke. You’re not going to put in a good word for him or do anything more than act as a pass for him to walk your streets. You’re busy working on your escape plan when you smell it.

Smoke, just as you step clear of the forest.

"Gods," the man breathes, both of you standing on top of the hill at the edge of the forest, watching your home burn. Your eyes grow wide watching the fleeing shadows of raiders, the sacrifices of you kin. What are they doing? Why would they- A mass of fire belches from the center of your village, the man covers your eyes, shields you from the heat of it with his cloak. The tattered tartan catches your attention, makes your heart pound in your chest. You recognize it, Mactavish. He was one of you.

"We have to go," He tells you. You try to pull yourself free, scream for your family down the hill. He catches you around the middle again, hauls you back into the safety of the forest.

"Tell them to stop," you beg. Your sobbing pleas fall on deaf ears.

“Those aren’t my men,” He doesn’t set you down, transfers your squirming to his shoulder with a grunt and keeps his pace. You can still see the lick of flame and smoke through the trees. The only home you’ve ever known, gone in an instant and all you can do is watch. The forest grows thicker around you as you lay against the familiar unfamiliar tartan and let yourself be carried off like a spoil.

#I'm gonna close the ask box if y'all keep giving me aus #Just so you know this would be a slow burn like Knight Ghost #but I have a few scenes in mind #john mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #soap modern warfare #soap cod #soap mw2 #soap x you #soap x reader #john mactavish #john mactavish x you #cod x reader #x reader #this fic brought to you by De Selby parts 1 and 2 #viking!soap #I should rename my medieval to just historic

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thecolsielife · 4 years

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Eco tips for the bathroom

I want to share a few tips with you on products that are more eco-friendly that I personally use in my bathroom. I firmly believe that if everyone made a few small changes then that would make a huge impact globally. As a person who previously lived off a single income on minimum wage, the cost of products has been a factor in my choice of products, however with the rising awareness of sustainability, options are becoming more purse friendly.

When buying there are a few things I look out for such as: -

Is the product tested on animals?

Is the packaging recyclable or made from recycled material?

Does the product use harsh chemicals?

Is it made in Britain?

Does it cost the earth? (pun intended)

Obviously everyone will have their own requirements of products they use and sadly quite often there is no 1 product that ticks all the boxes so then you must decide where to compromise. But remember, even doing a little is better than nothing because at the end of the day companies react to how customers spend there money. For example I remember years ago when shopping in supermarkets the eggs where mainly from caged hens, not good. Fast forward to now and the caged hen eggs are a tiny proportion of the display with free range taking up the majority of shelf space. That is all down to people like Jamie Oliver bringing the appalling conditions of caged hens to the mass public's attention, which led to a change in what eggs we buy. So this is proof that we as the customer have a lot more power than we sometimes realise.

So I have 6 products I wish to enlighten you about all of which do not cost the earth, in both sense of the word. First of all is the humble and recently high demand product of the loo roll! Most toilet roll companies now are FSC certified which means that the paper comes from wood that is responsibly managed, socially beneficial, environmentally conscious, and economically viable. Yay. However this brand takes it a step further. The Nicky brand of toilet roll, which is a budget item might I add, work directly with the Woodland Trust to plant native British woodland. How wonderful. Budget friendly, bum friendly and Earth friendly! What more could you want from a loo roll?

My second tip is something I stumbled upon on my Pinterest wonderings, an eco way to clean your bathroom and get it sparkling. It's so simple, all you have to do is mix equal parts washing up liquid with regular white vinegar and top up with water. Now ideally I would love to have a lovely glass spray bottle for the photo but I don't, however I did find an old plant spray bottle so I found a new purpose for it. Do be aware that your bathroom will smell a bit like a chippy for a wee while when you've used the solution, I quite like it even if it does make me peckish!

I have 2 solid bar soaps that I use, the first is a regular hand soap, the second is a solid shaving bar. The hand soap is from the Little Soap Company based in the North Cotswolds Hills. Their products are organic and 100% free from all the nasty things usually found in hand soap. The soap comes in a cute little cardboard box which is an added delight. I've used solid hand soap for a while now and I'm not going back. My hands smell wonderful and feel soft as silk, so why would I go back? Also if you follow them on Instagram you can see their office dog Henry make regular appearances!

The solid shaving bar was an experimental originally as one of my friends had been smugly telling me about her solid shampoo bar she was using. Well not one to be out eco-ed, I got googling, actually it was ebay but I don't think ebaying is a word yet! I found this cute company based in Yorkshire called the Cosy Cottage Soap Company. I have a soft spot for all things Yorkshire anyway as my Mum is from there and I have lived there too so this was ideal. They like the first producers source natural, sustainable ingredients. They use recyclable or compostable packaging too. I have found there is a wee trick to getting the most from the shaving bar which is to make a lather in your hands first and use that on your skin rather than rubbing the soap on your skin, simple because I found that way makes more lather and goes further too. Added benefit to using this soap is that it takes a lot less space in my already tiny bathroom but I don't get any skin irritation either, win win.

The last two items for this eco tip overload is a box of matches and a wooden soap dish holder. There isn't much to say about the soap dish holder, it's pretty self-explanatory, it holds the soap while looking rustic and pretty. This was another of my ebay finds so cheap as chips and also means you don't run the risk of the solid soap slipping around the sink like an eel. The matches was I think something I read in a magazine as one of those old wives tale things. So when it smells badly shall we say, in the bathroom, simply light a match and blow it out. This magically dispels any nasty smell that might try to linger. Both myself and Kilted Viking love the smell of a match and as an added insurance, I wave the match around the room just to be on the safe side.

That's all my wisdom for now. If you're still reading then well done and thank you for investing your time in this and I hope there's something you may adopt in your journey in taking baby steps to living a more sustainable life.

Chrissy

#eco tips #green living #sustainability #buybritish

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librationpoint · 5 years

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Kinktober ‘19 - Glory Hole

Day 29 - Glory Hole 1589 words, Ray/Brad, Ray/Many, Ray/Surprise Guest In which Ray spend Superbowl Sunday on his knees. Definitely NSFW this time.

Ray wasn't really sure how Brad had organized this. The physical part was easy enough. A small section of the garage was partitioned off by a couple of plywood sheets held up by a few two-by-fours, easily thrown together in an hour. There was a padded adjustable bench, the sort for gardeners that could be used to kneel or sit on, and a surplus cot to lay down. Several gallon jugs of water, a couple empties to relieve himself in, assortment of snack bars, small little reading lamp, iPad and portable TV: everything you could possibly need to spend a long afternoon in your very own personal glory hole. That and a comfy t-shirt, exercise shorts, and jock; no need to dress to impress here.

The social part, though. How did someone even do it? You couldn't exactly send out an email to everyone at your command saying, "Hey, guys, anyone want to come to my Superbowl party? There will be chips, dip, and also anonymous blowjobs."

Brad had better be saving some of that dip.

It was probably better that Ray didn't know anyway. The chances that anyone at the other end would even know Ray existed was slim to none; Brad kept his personal life private and the number of people on purely on his side who knew Ray was anything but a friend could be counted on two hands and most of those were family. Presumably none of them would be coming within a hundred miles of the house.

Ray could hear vehicles pulling up the drive. He used his iPad to check on his lipstick; he thought it was a nice touch for the no-homo types and the shade looked great on him anyways. He was assured of this. He went back to playing Angry Birds as he waited for someone to work up the nerve and come out to enjoy himself.

It took a while but finally the door from the garage to mudroom swung open, briefly spilling light through the room as a man walked in. Ray switched his lamp off, got on his knees, and peered through the hole. It was dim in the garage, with only a couple small LED night lights plugged in near the doors to keep people from tripping over a motorcycle part and smashing their heads open on the concrete. And privacy of course, couldn't forget that. There was too much shadow to see his face, but there was plenty Ray could still make out. Thirty-something, thick build but not overly chiseled, tank and cargo shorts, dubiously generic tribal tat on his right arm, cocky strut. Definitely some flavor of marine or soldier, probably had at least one ex-wife and a $50,000 truck with crippling loan interest.

He knew what he was doing, though. He opened his fly, tugged his boxers under his balls, and after a couple strokes put his hardening cock through the hole. Average size, maybe on the plump size, dark, uncut but clean: definitely a nice started piece. Ray went down and started sucking without any foreplay or teasing, he seemed like the sort there to get his rocks off fast. That proved correct. After a few minutes he shot a nice, salty load into Ray's mouth, zipped up, and left. Ray made a tally mark on the whiteboard next to the hole and went back to waiting.

Maybe another ten minutes passed before the door opened again. This guy was tall, not Brad-height but maybe LT sized, shaped kind of like a stork, all long limbs and angles. Probably another marine, the haircut was depressingly similar to what Ray had worn while he was in, but the hesitance and general bookish look suggested some sort of POG, or fobbit, or whatever the fuck they were called these days. Maybe Brad was trying to put some hair on the guy's chest.

He hesitated about a foot away. He unbuttoned his jeans and tugged him and his boxer-briefs down to about mid-thigh and just stood there, cock still soft amid a ginger bush.

"So, uh... do I just put it in, or should I jerk it a little first, or?"

Ray wanted to say, "shut up, your stupid dickweasel, this is a complete violation of glory hole etiquette." Instead he kept his trap shut and stuck his index finger through to gesture for him to stick it in. The guy did, and while it took a minute to get him hard, Ray could forgive a newbie a lot of sins when he had a nice long one to suck on. He had some staying power, too, not just from nerves. If Ray were the sort to fuck random POGs he'd definitely be on the list.

Things started to slowly pick up after that. Ray could practically predict when guys would start showing up by how things were going in the game; the moment a time-out was called someone was bound to come by and drop a load. He spent the whole of half-time on his knees servicing a non-stop line of cocks, to the point that his jaw felt like it might lock open by the time play started again. Mostly guys seemed to be observing the cumdump equivalent of urinal rules, staying outside the garage where they didn't have to see a guy get his dick sucked, but also clearly waiting right outside during the rush from the speed they came in as soon as another left. The exception were a trio of marines so clearly boots that it hurt, with identical buzz cuts and polo shirts, who came in together and got a little noisy as they watched each other shove their cocks into a hole with about as much enthusiasm and roughness as you'd expect from that sort. Ray didn't think he'd ever been so eager to please gunny that he'd have come over to give his kinky girl a nice throat fuck but then again at their age he'd still have been on the receiving end.

The evening was basically an X-rated Dr. Suess story about cocks. Big cocks, small cocks, fat cocks, skinny cocks. White cocks, black cocks, hairy cocks, shaved cocks. Ray was in cock heaven. The one constant was it was all clean cocks; clearly they had been screened for familiarity with the concept of soap. That was more than could be said about the last time Ray had tried this for more than one or two guys in a row, back after he'd gotten back from Afghanistan. Right before he'd started his thing with Brad, actually, which he didn't think was a coincidence. Brad liked his mouth only metaphorically diseased.

Near the end of the night, Ray caught a flash of sandy hair and a familiar gait. The man was hesitant, slowly making his way over, which gave Ray time to decide to give his mouth a rest. He pulled down his shorts and drizzled some lube on his fingers so he could quickly open himself up. His visitor put his cock through the hole and with a grunt Ray backed his ass right onto his.

"Shit," the guy said from the other side. "You fucked-up horny hick."

Ray braced himself against the other wall as his fellow redneck did what any redneck did when finding his cock up a slick hole and started fucking him. The angle was awkward and the plywood barrier made it impossible for him to properly deep-dick Ray, but getting some backdoor action after working his throat raw felt great. He freed his own much-neglected cock from his jock and started jerking in time to the thrusts. He was already dripping from the hours of cock overexposure. It didn't take much for him to shoot all over the concrete floor, biting his arm to keep quiet. His mystery fucker came shortly after, leaving a thin trail of cum dripping down Ray's taint after pulling out. Ray turned and managed to fit his first through to give him a big thumbs up.

He got a, "You are so fucking weird," in reply.

Things died down fairly quickly an hour or so after the game was over. Brad had firm ideas about people going home once a party hit the end point listed on the invites. Ray sent him a text to let him know he was thoroughly wrecked and to put a closed sign on the door. After a while there was no further noise from the house. Ray was about to curl up and take a nap when some Viking-looking motherfucker came in. Ray did his best to give the man's oversized donkey cock the love it deserved but frankly his lips were about to fall off and he ended up mostly jerking him off until he came all over Ray's face.

"Get out of there and help me clean up," Brad ordered.

"You better have saved me dinner," Ray said, opening the makeshift door and wobbling to his feet. He followed Brad back through the mudroom and into the kitchen. "I'm fucking starving."

"You've been eating all day."

"They're not literal protein shakes, jesus." A soft snoring noise distracted Ray from his quest for something new to stuff his mouth with, and a peek over the back of their biggest couch revealed an adorable rosy-cheeked redneck marine curled drunkenly around a pillow. Ray gave Brad a 'what part of anonymous did you misunderstand' look.

"He didn't have a designated driver," Brad said with a shrug.

"You big fucking softy."

#kinktober #generation kill

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lokis-lady-death · 6 years

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Slither Pt 3

Loki x Reader

Reader is a museum curator is put in charge of a Viking/Norse exhibit at the Smithsonian Museum. While going through all the artifacts, she comes across a strange relic that seems to have a mind of it’s own. She accidentally stumbles into an ancient world of gods.

Part 1, Part 2

Slither Part 3

The last time you saw the green eyed man, he had sent you back home-to Midgard, as he had called it. The last thing he said was he hoped to see you again.

Was that an invitation?

You had been staring at the necklace for so long you had nearly forgotten about your obligation at the museum. You still had so many things to do, so much work to complete before the exhibit.

But all you wanted to do was go back to Asgard.

You closed your eyes, imagining the view of Asgard through the window, the golden roofs glistening from the early morning sun, the mountains in the distance just past the grand marble columns of the city. The smell of wood, dust, books. Even in your minds eye it was all so magical and breathtaking.

And the more you thought about the man, the more questions you had for him. Looking back down at the necklace, you weighed the options.

To go back to preparing for the Nordic exhibit or to for This exploring the living world of history.

The necklace obviously seemed to affect time here differently than when you were in his world. Given it had been several hours here, only a couple may have passed for the green eyed man.

You bit your lip before ultimately deciding to put the necklace on your bedside table.

Trying to push the thought down, you got ready for a shower. As wondrous as that world was, it wasn’t meant for you. And the necklace, which you had now stolen from the Smithsonian, would need to be returned before someone noticed it was missing.

‘But you’re the only one who knows it was delivered,’ reasoned a voice in your head, but not your own.

You glanced back at the table, the snake’s head on the pendant calling out to you. ‘No one will even know it’s missing.’

You stared for a long minute, longer than you meant to before shaking your head. “No, I need to get to work.” You locked yourself in the bathroom and started the shower, determined to get to work.

You ran the water as hot as you could stand it while you stripped. “This whole thing is absolutely insane,” you said to yourself as the water started to steam.

Your brain was trying angrily to reason with itself. The longer you dwelled on the subject, the more you tried to discredit it. “I was probably just sleep deprived. Another world? Just by wearing a necklace?” You scoffed at yourself as you soaped up your hair, completely oblivious to the light hissing sound sliding across your floor. “Just nonsense.”

Try as you might, you couldn't stop thinking about it. Or about the man. You remembered his breath, the cinnamon and cloves so distinctive you thought for a moment you could smell it again now.

Quite distinctively actually.

It was like the sweet smell of baked cookies but also the husky scent of spice. It covered yo the vanilla from your own bathing soaps. You closed your eyes getting lost in the thoughts while lathering the soap across your chest.

Hissing drew closer but you still didn’t notice, lost in your own imagination.

The man was so tall, too, towering over you when he pulled you against his chest.

Why had he done that?

‘Oh, the footsteps,’ you remembered. So strange he seemed to be hiding from someone in that library, keeping you both still and quiet before ultimately sending you back here to your world.

There was movement just outside of your shower curtain but you still didn’t notice.

‘He also has the other part of the pendant.’ That thought didn’t come at your voice, but it didn’t startle you. It was right. He did have the other part of the pendant. And seemed to know something about it that he didn’t want to tell you.

That’s when you finally heard it. A very distinctive sound, echoing above your head where the water came down on you. You tried to swipe the soap and water from your face, but you didn’t react fast enough. Something, heavy, dropped down onto you. You shrieked, falling out of the tub with only the curtains slowing your fall. You grasped at nothing, completely blind and confused as you went tumbling into the floor.

You landed hard on the floor, surprised you hadn’t knocked yourself out. The curtains were torn from the walls beneath you , only slightly cushioning your fall. Your eyes were open despite the suds, stinging and unable to take in much around you

You were practically blind.

Before you could grab a towel to clear your face, you felt something sliding up your body, moving along the curves of your thighs, your stomach, finally coming up your neck. You screamed louder and louder, unable to see or fight off what was creeping up you.

But you had a decent idea when it wrap around your neck and you felt yourself jerked around, like on a roller coaster. The sensation was so abrupt you felt nauseated, rolling over on the floor to try and keep your stomach in tact.

When you finally looked back up, everything was fogged over, like a sauna. You couldn’t make out walls, couldn’t even see your tub or shower curtains anymore. Your hands went up to your neck, conforming what you feared.

The snake pendant laid across your chest. You weren’t in your bathroom anymore.

You were back in Asgard.

And you were nude.

You were cursing, but quietly. There was no way to know exactly where the necklace had brought you, no way to know who else was around. Listening, you were able to make out the sound of running water.

Trying to calm yourself down, you did what anyone would do in this situation: you looked for something to cover yourself with.

Anything.

Trying to hunch over and use your hands as much as you could to hide your assets, you creepted around the room. You finally understood why you couldn't make out your surrounding: the floor, walls and ceiling seemed to be made of smoothed over white marble, blending in seamlessly with the steam. You finally came across a table with clothes when you heard a set of footsteps.

“Fuck!” you cursed as you fumbled through the clothing. You found something black that was large enough you could at least wrap it around you as the steps came closer.

“Oh darling,” he spoke into your ear as his hands came up to cusp around your bare shoulders. The voice was unmistakable, refined in a way you would know it anywhere. You turned to meet the eyes of the green eyed man from the library. “We really should stop meeting like this.”

“I…” Your face went hot as your eyes trailed down his to his chest, bare and dripping wet. Where he was in dark leather before, now he was bare, down to nothing but a half lose towel around his waist.

“Lady y/n, is there a reason you’re hiding beneath my cloak?” You shot your eyes back up at him, feeling your heart pounding as you clung the black sheet closer to your body.

“I…” was all you managed.

The green eyed man’s brow raised as he watched you, unsure what to think of the situation. “Well, if you won’t tell me that, will you at least tell me what brings you back to Asgard?”

“I…” your hand went up to the necklace around your neck and he understood.

Nodding, he simply said, “I see. Well, I’m just getting done with cleaning up. Why don't you let me dress and we'll continue this conversation under more suitable conditions.” He flashed a half cocked smirk as he added, “Though I'm certainly not worried about the constraints of a wardrobe if you're not?”

“I didn’t put this on…” you whispered as your fingers wrapped around the pendant. You were too shocked for his flirting to even affect you. “It… came to life…wrapped around my neck which I was in the shower...”

“Oh yes, it does that.”

Your brow furrowed, gawking up at him while he looked so matter-of-fact. “What do you mean it does that?”

“That’s the purpose of the Chains of Sigyn. They bring the wearer to the other half of the pendant. It’s an ancient magic, but effective. Once it has chosen a wearer, there’s really not much you can do. You can take it off again and again but it’ll only keep finding ways to bring you back.”

Your eyes widened as your nails dug into the body of the snake around your neck. “What? But you said this wasn’t cursed! That sounds exactly like a curse! How to I make this stop, I can’t just keep getting pulled here!” Without meaning to, your voice was carrying through the room, echoing against the marble.

The man’s brow creased when he looked down into your eyes, trying to figure out what he should say next when knocks disrupted you both.

“Yes?” the man answered, his hands coming up cover your mouth. Not that you were going to scream, but the with the startle you were exhibiting it seemed like the safest precaution.

“Brother, I was hoping to have a word.” A door you hadn’t noticed slid open and a man, large and decorated in golden armor stepped inside. His hair was long like the green-eyed man’s but blonde, matching the thin beard on his face. He looked stern when he first stepped in, like he had urgent business to discuss, but stopped dead still when he caught sight of you. “Loki? What are you up to?”

The green eyed man smiled at you before turned towards his brother with his arms out. “Oh Thor, how good of you to join us. This is my midgardian friend, Lady y/n.”

The blonde’s brow creased as he stared at you, trying to make some type of sense out of seeing you. “Is she… is she undressed?”

“If I might explain…”

“Are you undressed?”

“You’re not letting me explain.”

Thor brought his index finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes tight as he thought out loud, “I don’t know if I would like to hear this explanation, brother. I simply came because someone broke into father’s study.”

“Did they?” Loki said, his arms folding over his chest while his head tilted to the side. “How strange, did they notice what was stolen?”

“I didn’t say anything was stolen,” Thor pointed out.

Loki only stared at him. “Hm?”

“I didn’t say anything was stolen,” he repeated.

“Obviously something must have been. Why else would someone break into Allfather’ study if not to steal something? That's where i would start, you need to figure out what was taken.”

Thor was quiet as he worked it out in his head. “Yes, definitely.” He looked back down at you. “But I am increasingly more concerned with what it is that is happening here.”

But you were too distracted. As soon as you heard the names Thor and Loki you froze in your spot, trying hard to steady your breathing as you realized where you were and who you were with.

You were in the presence of gods.

You were finally brought back to the conversation when Thor’s eyes landed on yours in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

The green eyed man, Loki you knew now, offered some words to dispel his brother’s concerns.

“Brother, I believe you are far too worried on the particulars. Yes, she is Midgardian. Yes, we are naked. Yes, we became a bit,” Pause. “Loud. But that doesn't mean it was from nefarious activities.”

Thor’s brow creased as he processed it all, his eyes looking away from you to imagine different scenarios in which Loki would be in the presence of a midgardian.

“I suppose,” was all he could answer. He then looked at you, his voice quite sincere. “As long as the lady can tell me she feels to be in no harm, I shall leave you both in peace.”

You glanced up and your eyes locked with Loki’s, heart pounding, knees week. You inhaled. “Yes, I'm fine.”

“See, brother? Now why don’t you go see if you can figure out what was taken from the study. I’m sure father would be most pleased if you found out before he realized something was missing.”

Thor agreed before apologizing for the interruption and left the two of you alone. As soon as the door closed, Loki’s eyes were on yours.

He flashed the most devilish of grins, asking in a low tone, “Now, where were we?”

“You're Loki?”

He nodded.

“The God of mischief.”

“Ah, yes, that would be what I would be known for on Midgard.”

“And he's Thor? God of thunder?”

Loki let out an aggravated sigh as he nodded again. “Yes, yes.”

“And when he said father��.” He meant Odin. King of all gods.

Seeing the conclusions on your face, Loki smiled again. “My dear, Lady y/n. If you keep getting caught up in the minute details, you're going to miss the bigger picture.”

“The bigger picture?”

He leaned down, whispering softly into your ear, “You still don't know what the necklace does.”

Your hand found the pendant on your chest, taking in what he said. “Do you know?”

“I do.” He leaned back, taking in the confusion on your face. “I don’t know why it chose you, though, truth be told. A bit of bad luck, I would say. Completely random. Just happened to be the closest person when the enchantment was activated.”

“It was activated?”

“Of course.” You stepped back as Loki went through the clothing on the table, unfolding a pair of black pants.

Something that Thor had said suddenly struck you. “That wasn’t your study you were in last night, was it?” you reasoned, thinking back to the peculiar way he acted when he thought someone was about to catch the two of you. “That was Odin’s study?”

“It was.”

“Why were you in there?”

Loki dropped the towel as he clicked his tongue. You blushed, turning away when you realized he was getting dressed. “I was reading the incantation to activate the other half of the Chains of Sigyn. That sort of spell isn’t kept in just any Asgardian library.”

At that, you had to face him. “You what?” He was dressed in only black leather pants while his hair dripped more water down his chest. He lifted the towel to his head and began patting it dry.

“I needed to make sure the chains were still functional. The only way to do that was to activate them. I had no way of knowing someone would be on the receiving end of that enchantment. I only knew that there was another half of my pendant in Midgard. The chains, they have a particular purpose. They are meant to transport the pendant’s wearer to where the other half of the pendant is. In your case, it brought you from Midgard to Asgard. Once I found this half, I needed to test that the other half was still functioned. To do that, I had to be sure it would work. So I activated the half in Midgard to see if it would come to my half. Which it did.” He looked you up and down with a satisfying grin. “Splendidly I must add.”

“This was all just some experiment?” you asked, not realizing your fingers were curling around the head of the snake on your chest.

“Hardly. It was half the experiment.”

“And what’s the other half?”

At this, Loki stepped towards you, but you moved back. “Please, I mean you no harm. I simply need my half of the pendant from my pockets. I mean to show you the pendants power when combined.”

You blushed deeper when you realized he must have meant the pockets of his cloak that you had unknowingly wrapped around yourself. Slowly, you shifted the cloak around so that he could reach the pocket but couldn’t see you. Your eyes cut away from his, trying hard not to pay attention as he came closer to you, reaching his hand deep into the cloak to search out the pocket. Though you didn’t look at him, he was watching your face intensely for some sort of reaction as he fiddled his way around. When his long fingers wrapped around the pendant, he began pulling it out, the back of his hand grazing across the flesh of your waist.

“Pardon, darling, slip of the hand, you know,” he breathed into your ear as he slowly lifted it. You hastily wrapped the cloak around you tighter, cutting your eyes up at him.

And you watched as he revealed the pendant, identical to your own. Eyes still focused on yours, he lifted it over his own head, letting out a deep breath. “Now,” he held his hand out to you. “If I may see your half.”

There was something off putting about the whole situation, something that made you question whether or not you could trust him. Loki, god of mischief, was not famed for being particularly noble. The idea that he was up to something was a real problem that stuck ou at you.

But the fact of the matter remained: you were too curious to turn back now.

Lifting the pendant from your chest, he took hold of his own and combined the two. When they set together, the snakes moved, intertwining around one another into a hard knot. It was unlike anything you had ever seen and for a moment, you were lost in the magnificence of it all.

He saw the pleasure on your face at seeing the magic work and smiled. “That’s not even the amazing part, darling.” Teaching around your neck, Loki began lifting the necklace from your shoulders.

And nothing happened.

You didn’t return home as you had previously with removing it. Your eyes darted around the room, as if you had been seeing it for the first time. Now you weren’t merely a spectator. You were, flesh and blood, grounded in the world of Asgard.

Like my garbage? Read more of it! Master List

SLITHER TAGS: @wolfgamzee , @harrymewmew , @tarithenurse , @sbluehi, @tarynkauai @kinghiddlestonanddixon, @inumorph @fire-in-her-veinz @bbcsassdeadass @loki-marveltrash @moonlightprime @perceptorxbrainstorm @harrymewmew

ALL TAGS: @socialheartbreak @kcd15 @maladaptive-ninja-returns@nephalem67 @jessiejunebug @woodyandbuzz20-01 @lokislilslut @bambamwolf87 @avenging-blackwidow

#loki #loki fanfic #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x oc #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #marvel fanfiction #marvel smutt #marvel #loki (marvel)#loki of asgard #asgard #slither #Lady Death Writes

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catrector · 5 years

Text

Character Creation Tag

Thanks to @gloria-russell for tagging me! It makes for a perfect distraction from other responsibilites ;D And also Cara sounds awesome! I can’t wait to hear more! I’m going to do Sigyn, because she’s one of the few characters that were created from scratch. 1. What was the first element of your OC that you remember considering (name, appearance, backstory, etc.?

The Why. Sigyn exists in surviving Norse Mythology as a bit of a trope. She serves a single purpose in a single myth, to hold a bowl over Loki’s head and prevent him from suffering. But why? She’s his wife, but we don’t know if it’s a good marriage or bad, or why she’s willing to suffer with him. I started writing because I needed to know more about her. 2. Did you design them with any other characters/OCs from their universe in mind? I had to. Almost every other character has preexisting character traits because it’s based on mythology. She couldn’t overlap too much with other characters or fit the stereotypes of other Gods. She had to be a realistic match for Loki in some way while still being an autonomous character that wasn’t built to just serve a relationship role.

3. How did you choose their name?

I didn’t :D

4. In developing their backstory, what elements of the world they live in played the most influential parts?

I ran through different versions of Sigyn through the drafts but the most consistent thing is that she’s always in the shadow of this Pantheon of Gods. How do you leave a mark next to the might of Thor and Freya? How do you carve out some glory for yourself?

5. Is there any significance behind their hair colour?

Not really, but also yes? In the Viking era, people used to wash their hair with soap that had lye in it, which would slowly bleach their hair blonde. Many of the Goddesses were/are imagined as blonde, so I wanted to go in another direction. There’s a whole tiny backstory about Sigyn’s mother being from ancient Egypt, so I’ve built her appearance around that.

6. Is there any significance behind their eye colour?

Same as above

7. Is there any significance behind their height?

Nope

8. What (if anything) do you relate to within their character/story?

Her need to carve out something that’s hers, something that she earned.

9. Are they based off of you, in some way?

I think all my characters take a trait of mine in some way. Sigyn probably has one or two XD 10. Did you know what the OC’s sexuality would be at the time of their creation?

I did. Loki could never be defined as straight and I wanted Sigyn to be able to understand that part of him. So she’s not straight either ;) 11. What have you found to be most difficult about creating art for your OC (any form of art: Writing, drawing, edits, etc.)?

What I find most difficult is that Sigyn is hard to write compared to the rest. Loki and Thor and Freya are somewhat prebuilt, while Sigyn is all my creation. Sometimes she doesn’t feel as fleshed out for the reason, or maybe that’s my inner critique talking.

12. How far past the canon events that take place in their world have you extended their story, if at all?

Somewhat on either side. I know what happens before and what happens after, to a degree. But I also don’t know what her favourite meal was when she was five, so *shrug*

13. If you had to narrow it down to 2 things that you MUST keep in mind while working with your OC, what would those things be?

1. Be consistent! The story takes place over years and Sigyn of Day 1 is not Sigyn of Ragnarok.

2. Sigyn is not a plot point to move the rest of the characters along. It can be difficult when at least 50% of the plot is myths that need to occur in a certain way. But it’s also first novel issues I think, making sure the plot doesn’t drag her along kicking and screaming XD

14. What is something about your OC that can make you laugh?

Sigyn definitely isn’t the comic relief in this story, since she’s got Loki for that. But I get a chuckle out of her ability to deny herself things. Like girl just stop and let that wall down instead of running circles to avoid admiting it.

15. What is something about your OC can make you cry? Her circumstances by the end of things. Phew.

16. Is there some element you regret adding to your OC or their story?

There are lots of elements I’ve added or removed over this long process. Ask me again when it’s published haha

17. What is the most recent thing you’ve discovered about your OC?

That she’s probably a bit too serious for her own good ;)

18. What is your favourite fact about your OC?

I love her tenacity. No matter what happens, she sticks with things. She’s been chasing her dream for much longer than I would have. Though whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing... who knows.

I’ll tag @therska @cometworks @bookishdiplodocus and whoever else wants to do it!

#Writeblr #tag games #Goddess of Nothing At All #Writing

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ivarsrideordie · 6 years

Text

A Chance Encounter

Must be 18+ to read. No if, ands or buts.

Pairing: Alex Høgh Andersen/Ivar the Boneless x Reader

Warnings: Smut, language, rough sex, and fluff.

Title: A Chance Encounter

Words: 4,216

Masterlist

This will also be posted to my AO3 account in the future.

There is no Danish in this except the normal nicknames and pet words.

If there is Danish written into the story, I just put ((insert text)) at the end of the sentence or paragraph.

If you would like to be tagged, comment or message me. I’ll be happy to add you.

A cool breeze skimmed your skin. You stretch and open your eyes. “Oh, poo.” You thought. Alex was already gone for work for the day. On the nightstand was a note. It read:

Kære Lille Mus,

I can’t wait to see you again tonight. My heart yearns to be with you. My cock aches to be inside you. I made reservations at that quaint little restaurant in the middle of town. I have a surprise for you after. Jeg elsker dig. ((Dearest little mouse))

Yours forever,

Alex

A smile spread across your face. You roll over and grab his pillow. You feel the soft fabric flush against your face. His smells entangle the pillowcase. You close your eyes and inhale deeply. Your mind goes back in time to when you first met.

You had just moved to Denmark. You were nervous because this was your first time traveling abroad. You were walking, half paying attention to what you were doing. You were trying to figure out the names of the stores and streets. You got to the corner where your apartment was and ran into a gorgeous blue-eyed man. His eyes twinkled like the ocean. His smile lit up like the sun. He had his hair pulled back and under a baseball cap. You thought he looked vaguely familiar but couldn’t remember where you had seen him. “Maybe he works in my building.” You thought.

“Hej, er du okay?” He sweetly asked. His scent invaded your senses. You felt your knees buckle. Maybe it was the sound of his voice. Maybe it was the sheer beauty of this creature before you. Maybe it was his natural musky smell with the hint of his cologne. Maybe it was all of the above. ((Hi, are you okay?))

“Uh...” You stammered. “Jeg… er… Uhm… Ugh! Taler du engelsk?” You shyly asked. Since asking if someone could speak English was one of the first sentences they ever taught you in Danish class. ((Do you speak English?))

“Yes.” He chuckled. “I asked if you were okay.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m okay. I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. I was trying to find my street. But I found it.” You blush. You wished you could shake the feeling that you had seen him before.

“Yeah? Where? Can I walk you the rest of the way?” He questioned.

“Well, I’m here. This is my apartment. Just up there.” You pointed.

“Oh.” He furrowed a brow. “Are you going home? Do you care to go get a drink, maybe?” His face flushed.

“Oh, my Gods! What is happening? I’m not ready for this. And he’s so handsome. What do I do?!” You scream internally.

“Hello?” He waved a hand in front of your face.

“Shit. I’m sorry. Uhm… Well, I…” You stammered.

He frowned. “It’s okay. I… didn’t expect… well, I, uh...” He spoke softly. “My name is Alex. It has been a pleasure to meet such a beautiful woman as yourself.”

You looked into his eyes. If you weren’t flushed, you sure were now. This was the first time a man this stunning has ever called you beautiful. You open your mouth to say something. What. The. FUCK! You couldn’t speak. You just looked at him like a deer in headlights. You open your mouth again to say something. Nothing. All you could do was huff. Then you realized. You realized who he was. Internally your brain malfunctioned. Your crush. Your Viking crush called you beautiful. He was more handsome in person.

“Well, I guess I’ll be going now.” He mumbled.

You finally were able to squeak out. “No! Alex, wait.” You took a deep breath in. “My name is Y/N.”

“That’s such a pretty name.” He grinned.

Are you fucking kidding me? Are you kidding me right now? Is he trying to kill me? You try to slow your heartbeat. Anything to be able to talk. This was a once in a lifetime moment.

You managed to stammer out. “I would love to go have that drink but I need to do some things for work first. I forgot some documents at home.”

“So, tonight maybe?” He gave you puppy dog eyes.

Oh, Gods. Just fuck me. “Y… Yes.” You squeaked again.

“Great! So, I’ll meet you back here? It can be our spot. What time do you get off work?”

“5:30. I mean 17… How do you say it here?” You looked to your feet.

“Don’t worry about it, Lille Mus. I know what time.” He put his thumb on your chin pulling your face up so he could look you in the eyes. “Until then.” He rubbed your chin slightly.

“Wait Alex. What is Lille Mus? Why did you call me that?” You inquired.

“It’s little mouse in Danish.” A devilish grin crossed his face. “You seem to squeak and get nervous like a cute little mouse, so that is what I will call you.” He winked.

“Oh. Okay, Ivar.” You grinned and winked back. “My buzzer number is 5a.”

He put his finger to his mouth. “Hush Lille Mus. You don’t want people to know I’m out. Well. I don’t want people to know I’m out. I don’t mind the fans. I need to get back to the agency myself. Meetings and all. I’m already late but it was so worth it.” He wore a wicked grin. You could tell at that moment he was plotting. And you knew. You knew you were basically dead. He would kill you with love and punishment. Something you have always wanted.

You finally got out of bed and hopped into the shower. You loved this shower head. It felt like a downpour of rain. You ran the soap over your breasts, then your stomach. Your mind wandered off to that first date.

The buzzer rang. You were so nervous. You weren’t sure what to wear. You just decided on a cute little red dress with a light cardigan in case it got cold. You still needed to go shopping for clothes. You didn’t really want to pack a ton of stuff to take on the airplane. It would have been a fortune.

“Hello?” You called into the intercom.

“Hey, Y/N. It’s Alex.”

“Come on up. I’m not quite ready.” You buzzed him in. You unlocked the door and went back into the bedroom to finish getting ready. You hear the door creak open. “Make yourself at home Alex. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Take your time. I’m sure you look perfect just the way you are.”

Jesus. He really was trying to kill me. You put on the finishing touches and walk out of the bedroom. Alex was sitting on your couch. His legs spread. You could see the outline of his cock. You gulped. You tried to make eye contact before he noticed. It was too late. He had a smug grin on his face.

“You look beautiful, Lille Mus.” His eyes sparkled.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” You smiled. You really wanted to call him Ivar again but you didn’t want to push it. His little nickname for you was a bit annoying. You admit you are shy. And definitely around hot guys. But you didn’t think you were anything like a mouse. A cat maybe. But whatever.

“Are you ready to go?”

“Yes. Just let me grab my phone.” You went into the kitchen. “All set.”

Alex opened the door for you. As you were heading out the door, he grasped your hand. You looked at him wide-eyed in surprise. He pulled you close to him. His eyes gazing into yours. His hands wrap around your waste. He took your mouth in his. He licked your lips asking for permission. You oblige. His tongue slid into your mouth. Gods he tasted wonderful. Your tongues dance. You moan into his mouth. He pulled you in tighter. His hands slide to your ass. Alex pulled away leaving you breathless.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all day, love.” He kissed the tip of your nose.

All you could do was smile. You were sure it was the stupid sappy smile you see other people doing when they feel like they are in love. You felt your body burning. You felt weak. Your body was numb. You hadn’t felt something that good in a while. At least you knew you had chemistry.

“After you.” He gestured to the stairs.

“I need to lock up.” You fumbled for your keys. Alex took them from you and locked the door. He placed them in his pocket with a wicked grin.

Ugh. Kill me. “I might need those back later.”

“I know Lille Mus. You will get them back when it’s time.”

You descend down the steps. Alex hopped in front of you. “Ladies first.” He sang as he held the door open for you.

“Thank you.”

Alex took your hand in his as you walked to the little diner across the street. You looked at him in surprise.

“I told you. This is our spot now.” He opened the door for you.

The waiter behind the counter yelled. “Hey! Y/N! Good to see you tonight. Sit wherever you want.”

“Thanks, Joe.” You waved to him and smiled.

“I take it you are a regular here?” Alex chuckled.

“Well, for the first few weeks here, I couldn’t find the grocery store. So I had to eat here. I don’t mind it at all. It’s a wonderful family-owned business.”

“Good to know. Let’s make some memories here then.” He pulled out your chair for you to sit. All you could do was grin like an idiot. Alex sat in the chair next to you. He pulled it closer to yours. Joe brought over some menus. You put in your order and began talking.

You could smell him again. His sweet scent. Your head became light. You wanted to remember this forever. Your meals came. You barely touched your food. You were so busy talking about everything. Your life. His life. Your family. His family. It was like you were old friends who were catching up. You felt Alex’s leg brush against yours. You shivered. Your face flushed. Alex raised a brow. He brushed his leg against yours again. You gasped slightly. You heard him hum. You felt his hand touch your knee. You jumped. You managed to knock over your drinks.

“I’m sorry!” You exclaimed. “Oh, my Gods. Your shirt!” Your eyes tear up.

“No need to worry love. I have plenty more shirts.” He chuckled. He placed his hand on your knee again. Your body was on fire. You put your hand on his thigh. His eyes slightly closed. His hand slowly made its way up your thigh. His thumb brushing back and forth. You bit your bottom lip hard. His pinky brushed the cloth of your panties. You involuntarily spread your legs allowing him more access. Alex looks deep into your eyes as he lightly brushes your cunt. Your face flushed and hot.

“A… Alex?” You stammered.

“Yes, Lille Mus?” He growled.

“I… I need to use the ladies room.” You squeezed his thigh and winked at him.

“Okay love. I’ll be waiting.”

You basically ran to the bathroom. You throw some water on your face and shudder. This is more than you had ever imagined. You hope he got the hint. There was a knock on the door. He did.

“Are you alone?” He whispered.

“Yes.” You opened the door and pulled him in. You flung your arms around his neck, pulling his face into yours. You crash into his lips hungrily. You heard the door lock. Perfect. You smiled into the kiss. His hand immediately squeezed your ass. He lifted you up, setting you on the sink. He pushed your panties to the side and slid his fingers up and down your pussy. He brushed his finger against your clit. You moaned a little louder than you thought you would. Alex grinned. You felt the warmth of his cock against your thigh. You reach down between you and run your fingertips up his cock. You felt his member twitch at your touch. Alex hummed in your mouth. He kissed you deeper. He pulled you into his hips. Your pussy was aching for him. You unbutton and unzip his pants. He helps you pull down his boxers, releasing his cock. He was fully erect. You look down at it licking your lips. You could see the precum forming at the head.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He murmured. His eyes blown with lust. His mouth found your jawline and ear. He took your earlobe into his mouth and lightly bit and sucked it.

“Oh fuck. Yes, Alex. I want you too. Please. Please take me.” You gasped.

That’s all he needed to hear. With one swift motion, he entered your soaked cunt. He was exquisite. He filled you fully. You wrapped your legs around him pulling him into you more. He curled his hips upwards. “Oh fuck!” you growled as the tip of his cock hit your g-spot. Alex curled his hips over and over. Each thrust producing a breathless gasp from you. He started grunting with every push. He plunged in and out of you. The sound of your juices and skin slapping made you wild. Alex bit down on your shoulder, then kissed it. His hands grasp your hips as he begins to pound into you harder. You kiss and nip down his jawline to his Adam’s apple. You lick and nibble at it. You felt his throat vibrate as he growled lightly. He brought a hand up to the back of your neck. He brought you in for a kiss. His tongue licking at your lips. You sucked on his tongue causing him to moan. He pushed you against the mirror. You spread your legs further apart as you lay back against the surface.

“You feel so good around my cock. I want you to cum for me Lille Mus. Cum and scream my name.” He hissed. He started thrusting harder and faster. You squeezed your walls around his cock as he slid in and out of your dripping wet pussy. You felt yourself growing numb. You felt yourself slipping. You could tell by the look in his eyes he was about to cum as well. Your toes started to curl.

“Alex! Oh fuck Alex! Oh Gods, Alex!’’ You screamed. Alex’s movements became erratic. A low growl escaped his chest. It was like an animal in him was released. Your walls wildly contract around his cock.

“Oh fuck, Y/N!” He hissed. “Fuck, fuck fuck!” He moaned as he violently came inside you. His body falls on top of you. You both were breathless. Alex kissed your breasts through your shirt. He looked up into your eyes. Now he had that stupid look on his face. You knew he was hooked too. All you could do was smile. Your hands ran through his brown luscious hair.

You heard a knock on the door. “Everything alright in there?” Joe hollered.

“Uhhh… Yeah, Joe. Everything is fine.” You heard his footsteps as he went back to the counter.

Alex started giggling.

“What is so funny?” You couldn’t help but giggle with him.

“Well, this isn’t exactly how I had planned tonight to go but I’m pleasantly surprised with it.” He smiled. “Let me clean you up.”

“ALEX! Not here! Please. Joe is already wondering where we went.” You snickered.

“Okay, then where? You are a dirty girl. You need to be cleaned badly.” He bit his bottom lip.

“Go take care of the check. Get the food to go or whatever and we will go back to my apartment. Okay?”

He unlocked the door. “See you soon Lille Mus.” He placed a soft kiss at the corner of your mouth and off he went.

You sigh. “Oh gross. He wasn’t kidding. I do need cleaning.” You made an ick face. “At least my place is only across the street.” You wipe yourself as clean as you can get and leave the restroom.

“All set?” Alex questioned and winked.

“Yes. I am ready.” You put your arm around his back. He pulled you in for a hug. He kissed you on the top of your head.

You get back to your apartment. Alex dug the keys out of his pocket. “See, I told you would get them back when it was time.” He pulled you in for a kiss. “I need to use the toilet love. I’ll be right back. Don’t leave me, Okay?”

“Where would I even go? This is my place silly.” You smirked.

Alex went into the bathroom. You decided you would go into your bedroom for a blanket. You heard the toilet flush and the door open. “Where are you Y/N?”

��In my room. I’ll be right there.” You yelled.

As you were bent over getting a blanket out of your cedar chest, you felt his hands pull your hips to him. You could feel his cock growing. “I need to clean you. Remember?” He grinned wickedly. He picked you up and took you to the bed. He gently placed you. His hands ran up the outside of your thighs, grasping your panties. You lift up your ass so he could remove them. His hands slid under your dress. He pulled you up for a kiss. You felt him lifting your dress. You helped. Alex wadded it up, throwing it to the floor. You unhooked your bra. Alex pulled it off and flung it across the room. He kissed down your neck. Shoulders. He cupped your breasts. His mouth latched onto one of the nipples. He pinched flicked the other. Alex moved to the other breast, giving it the same attention. He licked and sucked down your stomach to your thighs. He kissed and licked up the inside of one thigh and down the other. His tongue felt like magic. Your cunt was already going wild. You arched your back as his hair lightly grazed your clit. He hummed. You could feel his breath on your clit. He was about to go in for the kill. You felt his inflamed tongue lick your pussy from back to front. The tip of his tongue lightly flicked your clit. Your body begins to writhe. He pinned your hips down with his hands. He engulfed your clit in his mouth. His teeth lightly biting, while his tongue swirled around it. All you could do was gasp. Raspy, deep gasps as you explode all over his chin. He looked up at you as your body twitched in orgasm.

“My my. You are a sensitive one Lille Mus.” His eyes full of lust. He sticks his tongue out trying to lap up all the juices on his lips and chin. “You have made a mess.” He looked down and ran a finger up and down your folds. “Jeg skal tunge og finger knulle dig, indtil du ikke kan trække vejret. Knæk så lidt mere. Du skal skrige mit navn i din søvn, når jeg er færdig med dig!” Alex growled. ((I am going to tongue and finger fuck you until you can't breathe. Then fuck you some more. You'll be screaming my name in your sleep when I’m done with you.))

”W… What? Alex, please. I need more.” You whimpered.

”Lile mus. You will see what I said soon.” His wickedly devilish grin formed on his face.

Slowly he lowered his head into your folds. His eyes gazing up at your reaction. He spread your lips with his thumbs. His tongue delved deep into your pussy. You throw your head back into the pillow. A loud gasp escaped your lips. You felt him smile. He moved his thumb to your clit. He circled with his thumb. Your walls collapsed on his tongue. You felt him kissing, licking, sucking on your folds. He looks into your eyes. His face shiny with your cum. You let out a growl at the sight. You lightly pull on his hair. You felt him hum against you. He licked you from ass to front. His mouth enclosed on your clit. He swirled his tongue around your engorged clit. You started to moan uncontrollably. Your body began to writhe. Alex stuck two fingers deep into you. He curled them hitting all the right spots. Your walls erratically contract around his fingers. You grab the comforter on your bed. Alex looked up at you. You felt yourself growing numb. The sweet, sweet pleasure flowing through your body. He flattens out his tongue, licking your clit up and down. You moan, groan, writhe, gasp. Finally, Alex takes one hard suck and flicks your clit quickly. Your eyes close. Your body quivers.

You scream. ”Alex! Alex! ALEX! Oh, fuck, Alex! Oh Gods, Alex!” You drench his chin once again. He lightly licked your clit well until the orgasm was over.

”I just can’t get enough of your taste.” Licking his lips. Slowly he crawls up your body, kissing along the way. Your fingers ran through his hair. The brown locks were so soft. He encompassed one of your nipples. His tongue flicked and swirled. Your body began to flush. Lightly, you tug on his hair producing a moan from him. He lazily kissed up your breast to your neck. You felt his cock burning your thigh with a hot white intensity. He took your mouth in his. Your tongues danced. You run your hands down his sides producing a shiver in him. You felt him smile into the kiss. He giggled into your mouth.

”I’m so sorry.” He was smirking. ”I’m ticklish.”

Before you could say anything, his mouth was on yours sucking your bottom lip. You unbutton his pants. He got off the bed and removed his pants. He removed his boxer. His fully erect cock sprung from them, slapping him on his trail line. You bite your bottom lip at the sight. He slithered back to you. The way he was looking at you was dark.

”Alex?” You whispered.

”Who is this Alex?” He questioned with his sexy Viking voice, grinning wickedly.

Oh. My. DAMN! You instantly came to the realization. He is giving you Ivar as well. He grunted as he positioned himself on top of you. You felt his body become heavy. He held himself up with his muscular arms.

You felt him rubbing his cock against your thigh. You pull him in for a kiss. He bit your bottom lip hard.

”Ow Alex!”

”Who is this Alex?” He hissed. ”You know who I am. Say my name.” He slid his cock inside your dripping cunt. He growled.

You gasped as he filled you completely. ”Ivar!”

”That’s right my queen. You feel so good around my cock. So tight. So wet. He held your hips down with his. His hips curled upwards. You felt his cock brushing against your wall. You reach up, digging your nails into his back. He sucked his teeth in pleasure. His eyes closed. His body began to falter. He was about to release. You wrapped your legs around him, pushing him inside you completely. He thrust wildly as you milked his cock. Ivar let out a loud guttural growl.

”Oh fuck! Oh FUCK! My queen! FUCK!” You felt him cum deep inside. He fell on top of you breathless. Ivar buried his face into the crook of your neck. His hot breath scorched your skin. Your hands ran over his back and shoulders. You felt him smile. His body jerked every time your hands ran down his back. Lazily he kissed your neck.

”Well, that was unexpected.”

”What’s that Lille Mus?” His voice returned to normal.

”You. You gave me Ivar.”

”I know. I gave you all of me.” He yawned.

You didn’t know what to make of it. You were turned on as hell but, what just happened? He rolled over, pulling you with him. He grabbed the blanket you had pulled out of the cedar chest earlier and covered you up. You rested your head on his chest. Listening to his heartbeat. Again, you smelled his musk. Sweet, sweet musk. He dragged his fingers slowly up and down your arm.

”What would you like to do next?” He inquired. That was the last thing you remember. Your body exhausted. You felt heavy. Tired. You were so tired. This had to be one of the best days of your life. And there were many more to come.

You snapped out of your daydream. Your fingers were buried in your pussy. Your knees grew weak. You propped one leg on the side of the tub. Your body gives into the wave of pleasure rolling through your body. You cry out for Alex. Just as the intense wave ceased, you heard Alex clear his throat.

”You called min elskede?” He stood there with a smug smile. ”This is the second time I have caught you pleasuring yourself without me. Ivar is going to have to punish you, you know?”

”Oh yes. I know.” You knew all too well what was coming. And you were ready. ”So, what would you like to do next, Alex?”

”You will see Lille Mus. You will see.”

@lisinfleur @therealcalicali @missrobyn81 @dangerousvikings @ivarswickedqueen @bang-kim-bap @michaeliskindahot @heathen-whore @vikingsbifrost @hvitserksgirl @mblaqgi @ivarsshieldmadien @captstefanbrandt @funmadnessandbadassvikings @titty-teetee @ethereallysimple @ivars-snowflake @babydoll7478 @inthenameofodin @ivarsheathen @microsmacrosandneedles @trailerthoughtstexas @ivars-heathen @wichesterwife27 @cbouvier23 @tierneygonzalez @dmv49 @ivaraddict @akamaiden @readsalot73 @moondustmemories @jxylynn-eliz @tayachristopher @ivarlcthbrok

#alex høgh #alex høgh andersen #alex hogh andersen #ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok #fanfic

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kingofthewilderwest · 7 years

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Hey, Haddock! Do you have bath headcanons? How often do you think the gang, Heather, Stoick, Gobber (well, that's been touched on in canon, lol), Viggo, Mala, Gustav, and Dagur bathe, and how meticulous are they? Do any of them sing in the shower, or the rain, or the washtub?

Hello hello! XD

I imagine that many of them follow Viking customs. Although the Hairy Hooligans of Berk hugely culturally diverge from historical Vikings, in the absence of knowledge on a topic, I often find it cool to supplement headcanons with historical/cultural fact. Vikings were very clean, washing their faces every day and perhaps even their hands before every meal, and bathed once a week. Since this was the norm, these individuals would likely follow the norm, too. (The song that the characters sing, “I’m a Viking through and through,” does have a line saying they don’t use soap... but given as they know about soap, and given as we have no other facts about how they bathe, makes me think they use soap and bathe about once a week anyway). Hiccup, Astrid, Fishlegs, Stoick, Heather, Gustav… they’d all do this without a problem and be nice, clean Vikings. Fishlegs is probably the most meticulous of the youths and bathes the most often.

We do know Ruffnut intentionally tries to smell bad. In “Free Scauldy,” she mentions that she uses fish oil to get her hair to look greasy and unwashed. In “The Zippleback Experience”, Tuffnut tells her, “You smell like a barrel of twenty year old cod livers.” However, in both of these instances, we learn that this is how Ruffnut intentionally grooms herself. The fish oil is an intentional addition to her hair washing to get it to look like that. When Tuffnut insults her smell, she tells Tuffnut, “Hey, this smell is not easily achieved.” Ruffnut does spend time in her bathing practices - it just turns out her bathing practices make her smell bad. But since Ruffnut seems rather attentive to her appearance and her smell, it’s probably the case that she bathes just as often as most Vikings - maybe, she does it even more. Since her smell is “not easily achieved,” maybe Ruffnut bathes very frequently - twice a week, or something like that, and adds in all the fish oil she can to get herself to smell as she wants.

I imagine Tuffnut might not bathe as often as the others - not to the point that it’s a health hazard, though. Tuffnut might just be a little more carefree and less concerned about hygiene than the average Viking. It might be how the dreadlocks started happening - by Tuffnut not caring about brushing and washing his long hair as often as he should (dreadlocks are an awesome and beautiful hair style - it’s just that dreadlocks don’t easily/naturally form for people of Tuffnut’s ethnicity and hair type, which means that for someone like him, it might not have come from hygiene). It’s also to note that, if you listen carefully to Ruffnut and Tuffnut when they first learn they’re rulers of the island in “Reign of Fireworms,” Tuffnut sings, “The island is ours! We don’t have to do anything or take any showers!” This suggests that Tuffnut has less than average hygiene for a Viking and doesn’t care to take showers or keep up on his cleanliness.

Snotlout also is someone who doesn’t clean himself as often as he should and gets smelling bad. The twins imitate Spitelout in “Race to Fireworm Island,” and one of the things they say is, “Take a bath, Snotlout.” This suggests that Snotlout tends to smell bad. Now, I don’t think that Snotlout foregoes bathing for long periods of time or is reluctant like Gobber... I imagine that, because he’s an athlete, he just tends to get stinky quickly. All that exercise does cause not-so-pleasant smelling sweat. Snotlout doesn’t seem to dislike bathing, after all, given as he talks about going outside to bathe in “When Lightning Strikes,” saying, “When it rains, I cancel bath night and just stand outside with nothing but a sponge and a bar of soap.” Snotlout seems to enjoy bathing outside in a storm, suggesting that he probably just gets smelly quickly and doesn’t compensate with more-than-once-a-week bathing. And since Snotlout talks about “bath night,” that suggests that there is a special day of the week to bathe - so he’d bathe once a week.

I headcanon that a few of the youths sing when they bathe. Tuffnut probably has some of the most amusing adlibbed songs. Fishlegs will sing well-known Viking folk tunes or a few of the poems he’s written for Meatlug. Snotlout also seems like someone who’d sing when he’s bathing, though he doesn’t like to admit it, and will only do it when no one else is around to hear him.

I imagine that both Fishlegs and Astrid are very thorough when they bathe. Astrid seems like someone who wants to smell good and clean, but since she works out and trains a lot, that probably means she’ll want to be thorough to get the sweat and grime off of her. Fishlegs is just someone who loves things clean - for crying out loud, he even has a hot tub built on Dragon’s Edge! He’s going to be someone who enjoys long, luxurious baths, and does his best to get himself feeling extra squeaky clean. Tuffnut and Dagur are going to be the ones who rush bathing, doing it more out of timely obligation, but not scrubbing with soap as well as they should. Hiccup is good and timely, average in thoroughness. I actually imagine that Stoick is pretty thorough himself - his complex beard braiding suggests that he cares about his hygiene. It’s another reason why Stoick is so devoted to getting his friend Gobber to smell... less disastrously... at the start of “Tunnel Vision.”

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